


Always Something

by Emcee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode Related, F/M, Het, Secret Marriage, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-18 09:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emcee/pseuds/Emcee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock Holmes asked John Watson to move in with him, there was something he neglected to tell his new flatmate. Unfortunately, John Watson sees but does not observe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Study in Partners

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lexie, Petra and Pablo for their beta, support and thoughts.

Sherlock had been relegated to working with Mike Stamford. Not that he didn't get along with Mike. In fact, out of everyone at Barts, Mike was whom he got along with second best. However, he would have much preferred the alternative. However, it had been made very clear to him that if he wanted to solve his 'bloody case' he could do it 'his own damn self'. She had become quite irritable with her promotion.

It was, perhaps, a bad idea to suggest that his job was more important. Then, it had been thrown right back at him. It had been quite the row.

So Mike was by his side, babbling on about his flatmate. Sherlock was only half listening, concentrating on his microscope.

"But then, I suppose you wouldn't know about that, would you?" Mike chuckled, clapping Sherlock on the shoulder. "Living on your own, aren't you?"

"Who would want to live with me?" Sherlock asked wryly. Inwardly, he thought about how he knew exactly who would want to live with him. At least on most days. Perhaps today was not the right day for that particular affirmation.

"Sure you could find someone if you were motivated," Mike offered. "Just depends on if you wanted to or not."

Sherlock pulled back from the microscope and hummed in thought. "Sometimes, I would enjoy the company of another man around. Someone to discuss my cases with."

It seemed he lacked that of late. Hectic schedules made it much too difficult to find time for personal interaction. At the end of the day, the last thing either wanted to speak of was more dead bodies.

"Maybe you should try to find someone," Mike said quietly.

Sherlock turned his attention back to his microscope. "Like I said, who would want to live with me?"

* * *

Molly was being sweet and bubbly as she introduced the corpse to him.

Unsurprisingly, it fit his needs perfectly. Other Pathologists lacked the attention to detail Molly had when it came to his needs. If he had his way, Molly would be the only Pathologist he ever worked with. There were just so many advantages.

He turned to her and gave her a small, tight smile. "We'll start with the riding crop."

He was pleased to see her brown eyes widen, making her look like a deer in headlights. After their tiff, it was satisfying to stun her into silence. Sherlock remained perfectly calm, removing the body from the bag it was in before unceremoniously turning it onto its stomach and taking up his riding crop.

As he worked over the corpse, he could feel Molly watching him. He knew what she was doing. Every smack of the crop made her jerk. She smiled, bit her lip and watched him with furious intensity. He pushed it out of his head, focusing on the task at hand. He had to be precise. He could not lose himself in some sort of strangely exhibitionist act.

When he was done, he began to scribble notes into his small book. Molly re-entered the morgue, clutching her hands. "So... Bad day was it?"

Sherlock suppressed his desire to snap at her that Molly knew exactly how his day was going. It seemed all to often lately, they were locked in a vicious _tête-à-tête_. He patently ignored her question. "I need to know what bruises form in the next 20 minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."

Molly was staring at him, looking up at him hopefully. "Listen, I was wondering. Maybe later, when you're finished..."

Sherlock finally looked to her. He did a slight double take at the sight of her. It seemed that Molly was extending an olive branch to him. "You're wearing a lipstick. You weren't wearing lipstick before." The shade was good on her. She didn't often bother with makeup at work. She always said she was around corpses all day, why did she had to dress up for them?

Molly looked away, slightly bashful at being caught. "I, er... I refreshed it a bit."

Sherlock narrowed his gaze on her. Was that how she was going to play it? Pretend she hadn't made herself up in order to apologize for their argument? "Sorry, you were saying?" He was going to drag it out of her if it was the last thing he did.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee." Molly was staring at him intensely. Sherlock eyed her carefully, considering the offer. It was not what he had thought she would say. It was not what he'd hoped she would say.

"Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs." If Molly was not going to apologize to him outright, then he was going to drag things out a bit longer. He was not one to waver easily.

* * *

It was quite the interesting situation Sherlock now found himself in. Mike had returned from lunch with a friend. Recently returned army doctor from Afghanistan. Looking for affordable accommodations. Obviously missing the excitement of the battlefield. He was a crack shot, without a doubt. Someone with that sort of combat and medical training was someone who could be of use to him.

Interesting. Very interesting.

When Molly came in with his coffee, Sherlock accepted it, looking down at her. "Ah, Molly, coffee, thank you." He scanned her face, noticing the difference. "What happened to the lipstick?" He turned from her, taking a sip of his coffee, his mind racing with the current situation.

"It wasn't working for me." Molly replied, her voice tightened slightly.

Sherlock took another sip of his coffee. "Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now." He waved his hand dismissively. As he did, he realized he'd gone to far with his pouting. But he couldn't concentrate on the prolonged argument. Not with John Watson commanding his attention. Oh, this was very intriguing. He needed to see where it was going to go.

"How do you feel about the violin?"

* * *

When Sherlock went to the morgue to retrieve his riding crop, he found Molly cleaning up from his experiment. He paused in the doorway, frowning at her.

"I went too far, didn't I?"

Molly looked over her shoulder at him. "What makes you say that? It's fine. It's totally and utterly fine."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "That hardly sounds convincing." He strode up to her, standing directly behind her. One hand slipped down to rest against her hip. "Your mouth is perfectly in proportion with the rest of your face and you are quite skilled in using it for a great number of things."

"Are you apologizing first?" Molly asked, looking up at him.

"I didn't say that," Sherlock grumbled.

Molly turned herself around to face Sherlock. "We can't do this anymore, Sherlock. We keep on sniping at each other and then trying to make it up to one another. It's not healthy."

Sherlock reached a hand up to trace Molly's lower lip with his thumb. "I need to work with someone who is not you. We row too much when we do."

Molly pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb. She looked up at him with warm brown eyes. "I can help you with bodies. You know I always will. But yes. And we need to not snipe at each other. And _accept the other's apologies._ "

Sherlock frowned, pulling his hand away. "You didn't offer apologies. You offered coffee. Which I did, in fact, accept."

Molly put her hands on her hips. "I did mean coffee as in us going out for coffee."

"Had work to do," Sherlock murmured. He leaned in towards Molly. "Are we still rowing?"

Molly slipped her arms around Sherlock's neck. "Depends. Are you going to explain what you're doing looking for a flatmate?"

"Experiment," Sherlock explain, sliding his arms around Molly's waist and resting his hands on the small of her back.

Molly sighed as Sherlock nipped at her ear. "And just where do I fit into this experiment?"

"Right where you always do," Sherlock murmured softly in her ear. "Besides, you're working so much now. You always get irritated if I try to drag you out after you're done work. And you're always saying I get bizarre if I'm on my own for too long."

Molly made an uncertain noise in the back of her throat.

"May I please keep him, Molly?"

Molly now sighed. "It sounds like you're talking about a stray puppy."

"I think he might be interesting to keep around," Sherlock insisted. "I promise to not bring home any abandoned dogs if you let me have the army doctor."

Molly pulled back and shook her head. "I can't say no to you."

Sherlock smirked, leaning closely to Molly, their lips only a breath apart. "Oh? Is that why you married me?"

* * *

The experiment with John Watson was proving to be even more interesting than Sherlock had initially hoped. He had known that the man would be of use to him, but he did not realize how much.

The doctor seemed to be intrigued by Sherlock. He was also able to keep up with him for the most part. That was a rare quality. It was definitely an improvement on talking to his skull.

He had intended to ease him into working with him. He needed to get him to stop using the cane he didn't need. However, the new 'suicide' needed a keen eye on it. Anderson wouldn't work with him- not that he would be much use if he would. His instinct was to take Molly with him, but she was at work and things were already strained enough without dragging her to a crime scene.

John was a good fit with him, something rare. When Sherlock found someone he worked well with, he didn't give it up easily. He could only think of a handful of people: Victor, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade... Molly.

It seemed Mycroft had realized Sherlock's quick attachment to John Watson. He had actually left the Diogenes Club to apprehend John and offered him money for his service in spying.

Was Mycroft wondering if his marriage was in trouble and that was why Sherlock was seeking a flatmate? It would have been sloppy of him to think so, but then Mycroft was not immune to wishful thinking.

Of course, Mycroft was not incorrect in Sherlock's interest in John Watson. That was why he found himself sitting across from the man at Angelo's. Sherlock kept his eyes on the street, waiting for the appearance by the killer while John rambled on inanely about what normal people did.

"What do real people have, then, in their 'real lives'?" Sherlock asked, his voice laced with sarcasm.

John continued on. "Friends? Or people they know, people they like, people they don't like… Girlfriends, boyfriends."

Sherlock sighed. "Yeah, well, as I was saying, dull." The constant need for 'real people' to connect with others was so very tiresome. Before he met John, he had thought Molly was enough for him. He had a wife who- despite spending an inordinate amount of time cutting up half the corpses in London- was remarkably devoted and supportive.

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?" John suddenly asked.

Sherlock remained focused on the window. "Girlfriend? No, not really my area."

Sherlock had never had a girlfriend. He'd experimented briefly with romantic entanglements during uni, but the idea of dating was wearying. He would never classify the lead up to his marriage as dating. Molly had cared for him after his overdose and had very quickly ended up living with him. The wait for their marriage certificate took longer than their courtship. Molly's interest in him had been obvious from their first meeting. It had taken him longer. But with the care he had shown him when he was recovering, he couldn't help but develop feelings for her. Once he'd realized it, it seemed ludicrous to go through a drawn out dating period. He'd asked her to marry him as they laid in bed together the first time they'd slept together.

"Oh, right. Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way."

Sherlock was taken out of his thoughts at the question and he looked to John. "I know it's fine."

"So you've got a boyfriend, then?" John was looking at Sherlock with keen interest.

Sherlock shook his head. "No."

"Right. Okay. You're unattached. Like me. Fine. Good."

Sherlock considered John's words carefully. He found the phrasing strange. Was John showing romantic interest in him? He hadn't picked up on John being homosexual. It didn't seem to fit.

He stared out the window, before letting his gaze slide back to John. How was he supposed to respond? Of course, he had his pre-set response to that sort of situation. It was not the first time he had been in it. Then, it was the first time he was in it with someone he planned to continue interacting with. He considered telling him the truth. He and Molly only hid their relationship to not interfere with their professional relationship. It was also not anyone else's business. But could it really hurt?

In the end, Sherlock erred on the side of caution. "John, um… I think you should know I consider myself married to my work and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any…"

John shook his head. "No, I'm… not asking. I'm just saying, it's all fine."

"Good. Thank you," Sherlock murmured distractedly. He considered how he would tell John the truth about his relationship status when he spotted the taxi on the street. "Look across the street. Taxi. It's stopped."

* * *

It was after two when Sherlock entered his bedroom. He was exhausted, the case closed and he was full of Chinese food. He just wanted to collapse in his bed with his...

...Very unhappy wife, who sat on the bed with her hands clutched in her lap.

"I solved the case," Sherlock said, looking down at Molly, furrowing his brow at her unhappy look. He removed his jacket and folded it on top of the bureau.

Molly's hands tightened into fists. "Oh, I heard. I've done the post-mortem on Jeff Hope already."

Sherlock blinked. "Oh? I suppose Lestrade wanted it rushed to do the ballistics."

Molly looked up at him, her dark brown eyes shining. "I'm sure you've taken forensic countermeasures to cover up for Doctor Watson."

Sherlock straightened up. "You know?"

"Of course I know," Molly sighed. "It wasn't all that hard to figure out. I'm sure Detective Inspector Lestrade knows as well, he just knows well enough to stay quiet about it. That's _not_ the issue."

"What is?" Sherlock asked, unbuttoning his shirt.

"The Detective Inspector told me I nearly had _you_ on my table!" Molly cried. "I know about the pill!" She brought a hand up to her mouth. "You almost... You were going to..."

Sherlock paused with his shirt half undone. He grabbed the small, shaking woman, pulling her into his arms. "I wasn't going to. I was just buying time."

"Don't!" Molly sobbed. "Don't try that. Not with me. I _know_ you, Sherlock. You wanted to prove you were cleverer than him, even if it meant leaving me alone!"

Sherlock crushed Molly to his chest, he stroked a hand over her hair. "If that had happened, I wouldn't have proven myself cleverer, now would I?"

"Stoppit," Molly pleaded. "Don't say things like that."

"Molly, I am alive," Sherlock assured her. "It is fine. I promise."

"I had to hear about it from the Detective Inspector," Molly murmured into his chest. "You didn't come when you finished the case so you could tell me what happened."

"John Watson shot a man to save my life," Sherlock sighed. "The least I could do was buy him dinner."

Sherlock laid back on the bed, pulling Molly down with him. "I knew you were working late. I thought would be able to talk to you before you found out."

Molly curled up against Sherlock. "That would suggest you're self-aware enough to think like that. You were busy with your new boyfriend."

"Don't make jokes, Molly," Sherlock sighed.

"Who's joking?" Molly muttered. "You're smitten. It's obvious."

"I'm taken," Sherlock replied, his fingers sifting through Molly's soft hair.

"Should we also talk about the drugs bust?" Molly peered up at Sherlock.

He looked away quickly, not wanting to meet her gaze. Of course Lestrade had been chatty about that part of the night too. "I'm clean, Molly. If I weren't, you would be the first person to realize that something was amiss."

"He thought he might be able to find something," Molly insisted, sitting up. She stared hard at Sherlock. "Do you mind telling me why he was so certain?"

"Because he doesn't know I promised you," Sherlock replied. He sat up and framed Molly's face with his hands. "It's never going to happen again. I swear, Molly."

Finally, Molly relaxed. She leaned in and pressed gentle kisses to Sherlock's mouth. He responded eagerly, easing her onto her back and slipping over her.

Molly bit her lower lip as she looked up at Sherlock. "Going to have to be quiet," Molly whispered. "Shouldn't disturb Doctor Watson on his first night here with you shagging your wife."

Sherlock pulled back slightly. "Oh. Right. That reminds me... John doesn't know I'm married yet."

Molly blinked. "And just when were you planning to tell him?"

Sherlock frowned in thought. "I'm not exactly sure. I was thinking it might be an interesting experiment in his observational skill to not inform him. See how long exactly it takes him to catch on. What do you think?"

Molly pursed her lips and eyed him warily.

Sherlock shook his head. "That's the look you get when you think I'm mad."

"You _are_ mad," Molly sighed. But then she buried her fingers in Sherlock's curly locks. "But you're mine."


	2. The Blind Blogger

With her promotion and the gross understaffing of Barts Morgue- plus the work she did for Sherlock- Molly always found herself going into work early and coming home late. This made it all the more difficult for John Watson to realize that not only was she living at 221B but she and Sherlock were married, even several weeks into their cohabitation. Sherlock seemed to take a perverse pleasure in their new roommate's naivety regarding their relationship status. Molly hadn't the heart to point out to her husband it was really an unfair experiment to be running.

As a result of Molly's hectic schedule, she was also certain John thought Sherlock never slept. Sherlock always waited for Molly to come home and woke up along with her. There was precious little time to spend together; he didn't want to waste what they had asleep.

Molly had grabbed the milk out of the refrigerator before settling down at the kitchen table. Sherlock made a tutting noise as she used up the rest.

"You know you don't need to drown your tea," Sherlock pointed out.

Molly stuck her tongue out at Sherlock. "I don't judge you for the way you take your beverages. Like that horrible, bitter coffee."

"John is always wondering why we're out of milk," Sherlock replied. "He thinks I've got a calcium deficiency."

Molly rolled her eyes. "Why don't you just explain to John that your _wife_ uses a lot of milk in her tea?"

Sherlock picked up the newspaper and began to read it. "That sounds horribly dull. Stop by the shops on your way home from work?"

" _Sherlock_ ," Molly whined. "I'm going to be on my feet the entire day. By the time I get home, I'm just going to want to collapse. Why can't you do it?"

Sherlock considered the question. "I can send John out."

Molly laughed softly and got out of her seat. She stepped in front of Sherlock, moving his paper out of the way. He looked up at her with keen interest as she crawled into his lap.

"Oh." Sherlock put the paper aside, slipping his hands around Molly's waist. "Do we have time before you have to go to work?"

Molly smiled as she moved in closer to Sherlock, kissing him firmly. "You." She punctuated each word with a kiss. "Are. The. Laziest. Genius." She pressed her forehead to his. "Especially for one who gets so easily bored."

Sherlock's hands slipped over Molly's backside, causing her to giggle. "You know, John has been searching for work during the afternoons. Around the time you take lunch."

Molly pulled back, cocking her head. "Oh does he? And?"

Sherlock's hands held Molly firmly in place. "It takes approximately thirty minutes by cab for a round trip home to work. You have an hour for lunch. Imagine what we could do with half an hour to ourselves."

Molly arched a brow. "You want me to give up my lunchbreak just so we can have a quickie in the middle of the afternoon?"

Sherlock leaned in, nipping at Molly's jaw. "Well, when you work late, you're too tired to do anything interesting. You also have to keep down those delightful noises you like to make now that John is living here."

"And whose idea was that again?" Molly pointed out. She sighed happily at the sensation of his teeth pressing against her skin. She buried her fingers in Sherlock's hair, allowing him to lavish her with attention for a few moments. "All right... All right... I'll consider coming home."

Sherlock chuckled softly. "Good girl."

Molly gave him a swat on the shoulder as she climbed out of his lap. "All right. I have to go to work." She leaned in and gave him a quick peck. "I'll see you later. Stay out of trouble."

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "What trouble would I get into?"

Molly grabbed her shoes and sat back down to put them on. "The Jaria Diamond. I looked over the notes on it. Sherlock, I know you're dead curious, but those are not people you want to be working for."

Sherlock's brow furrowed deeper. "What makes you think that?"

"The fact that they are the ones who stole it in the first place." She smiled at Sherlock's surprised look. "Oh come on Sherlock... I've been married to you for over a year. You think I don't know how to suss things out like this by now?"

Sherlock pulled Molly back to him as she stood up. "You are absolutely gorgeous. Don't worry. I was already planning to talk to their messenger today."

"Carefully," Molly insisted. She gave Sherlock a light tap on the arm. "Now let me go. I'm going to be late."

With one final kiss, Molly grabbed her bag and ran towards the door. Just as it was closing, she heard John come downstairs. "Was someone here, Sherlock?"

"Don't worry about it, John. By the way, we're out of milk."

* * *

Molly really should have known better.

Sherlock might have complained about their intimate relations always involving one or both of them being tired, there was a lot to be said for spontaneity. It was really the only way to go about things when married to Sherlock Holmes.

She'd done as asked and come home during her lunch break. As she walked in the door, she pulled her hair from its ponytail. "You know, this isn't going to become a habit. Doing this absolves you of the responsibility of cuddling, due to my work schedule and I happen to like..."

Molly came to an abrupt halt when she found not Sherlock in the sitting room, but her brother-in-law, carefully studying the handle on his umbrella. "I never would have pegged you for the type to make appointments for intimate relations, Miss Hooper."

Molly crossed her arms over her chest. "You know, your brother and I have been married for over a year. You can call me Molly, Mycroft."

Mycroft smiled toothily. "Of course, _Miss Hooper_. It's been a while since you and I have seen each other."

Of course, that had been by design on Mycroft's part no doubt. He had never been thrilled by Molly's presence in Sherlock's life. Molly looked around the sitting room. "Where's Sherlock?"

"It seems he is out."

As Molly looked around the flat, a thrill of panic went through her. She walked to the kitchen table, seeing the deep scratch mark in the wood. That was new from that morning. There had been some sort of tussle, it was clear. To the untrained eye, the flat looked as messy as ever, but there were distinct differences from the way Molly had left it that morning. She made a small squeaking noise as Mycroft pulled the sword out from under Sherlock's chair. "You haven't trained him to put away his toys, Miss Hooper."

"The Jaria Diamond case," Molly gasped.

"Closed," Mycroft replied. "At least, it's nothing for Sherlock- or you- to worry about. Looking at his email, it seems he's acquired a new case. From an old schoolmate. Funny, Sherlock couldn't stand the man when they were at uni. But no doubt Sebastian Wilkes is paying a pretty penny for his services." Mycroft eyed Molly. "And he does have _things_ to upkeep, doesn't he?"

Molly sighed in aggravation. "If I was after your brother's money, I doubt I would still be elbow deep in corpses day in and day out. Also, all of his accounts are in both of our names now." Molly pointed to herself. "And I balance them. He's completely hopeless at it. If I wanted to rob Sherlock blind, I could have done it already and he would probably never know."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed on Molly. "It seems like you've put quite a bit of thought into this, Miss Hooper."

Molly rubbed her temples. "If Sherlock isn't here, I really should grab some lunch before I have to run back to work. Would you mind terribly telling me why you've come?"

"Obviously I am here to see your erstwhile husband." Mycroft sighed, standing up. "But he's running around London with Doctor Watson." He smiled at Molly once again. "How do you feel about that, Miss Hooper? Sherlock having found his soulmate in an army doctor? And not even telling John about you. Certainly doesn't bode well for you."

Molly glared back at Mycroft. "You, of all people, don't need to be told how Sherlock doesn't do things like normal people do. Now why don't you just call Sherlock? His mobile is essentially grafted to his hand. In fact, he might have been trying to design some technology so that was actually possible..."

Mycroft gave Molly a small nod. "Well, I shall just have to go about other avenues. Miss Hooper, always a pleasure."

Molly rolled her eyes as she watched Mycroft leave. "Tell me, Mycroft... Does lying constantly just come naturally to members of the British government?"

* * *

By the time Sherlock got back to 221B, Molly was already in bed, her back turned to him. She listened to the sound of his footsteps, the rustle of clothing and then felt the bed sink as he sat. He leaned over, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "You're angry at me."

"No," Molly grumbled. "I'm angry at myself for thinking you would remember we had a lunch appointment."

"The case became more complicated than I originally thought," Sherlock sighed. "I did not expect a staged suicide scene."

Molly tried to stiffen herself as he slipped under the covered and spooned her, his hand slipping beneath her camisole to stroke her navel. "I understand. Believe me, I do. It was silly of me to think nothing would come up. When I married you, I knew sex wasn't your top priority." Molly turned her head to capture Sherlock's lips briefly. " _But_ you can't expect me to come home just on the off-chance you'll be there and feeling randy."

Sherlock nuzzled his nose against Molly's cheek, causing her to giggle. "All right. From now on, I'll text you if at your break, I'm at home and feeling randy."

Molly crinkled her nose. "What am I to do with you?"

Sherlock growled low in his throat, inching his hand up Molly's shirt. "I can think of at least a dozen things."

* * *

It was no surprise to Molly when only a day later she received a text from Sherlock ten minutes before he lunch break.

_John is out. Come home.  
-SH_

Despite Sherlock's gentle affection the night previous, they had not gone any further, Molly exhausted from work and Sherlock focused on his case. Perhaps Sherlock had closed the case already. He was insufferably brilliant like that.

Molly did as asked and took a cab to their flat. When she walked in, the first thing she noticed was the photographs taped to the mirror above the mantel. The case was still open. However, she didn't have time to dwell on it when long thin arms wrapped around her waist and a warm mouth pressed to the back of her neck. "I'm sure this is better than last time."

Molly bit her lower lip, allowing herself to give into the pleasure of Sherlock's mouth against her throat. She felt him pick her up and carry her to their bedroom. She sighed as Sherlock laid her down on her back on the bed.

Their mouths finally met properly as Sherlock hovered over her. "I thought," Molly gasped between kisses, "You were on a case."

"I am," Sherlock murmured, slowly descending towards, pressing kisses to the exposed parts of Molly's skin as he went. "I need to clear my head. There's been a second murder. Besides, I owe you for coming home yesterday and forcing you to speak with Mycroft."

As Sherlock continued his descent and tugged at the drawstring on Molly's trousers, she allowed her eyes to flutter shut. If this was how Sherlock needed to clear his head, who was she to argue?

* * *

Molly's body still hummed with pleasure as she kissed Sherlock in the sitting room. "I have to go back to work now," Molly said regretfully.

"Hm," Sherlock pulled away, looking down at Molly rather dispassionately now, a sharp contrast to how he had just been. "As do I."

Molly straightened out her clothes and grabbed her jacket as Sherlock perched himself on the back of his chair, staring at the photos on the mirror once again. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin.

"I'm off then. Good luck with the case." Molly grabbed her bag and headed to the door.

She rolled her eyes as Sherlock called after her, "Darling, could you pass me a pen?" She didn't stop on her way to the door. If he really needed it, he'd get up and get it himself eventually.

* * *

Molly tried to focus on deciding what food she was going to eat. She didn't want to focus on staring at her mobile, hoping Sherlock had texted her. It was not an odd occurrence that he would forget to text her while he was working to let her know he was still alive. It was not even an odd occurrence that he wouldn't return home for a night. When they were first married, she had stayed up all hours worrying about his wellbeing. Sherlock had assured her that as Mycroft trailed practically his every movement, if he were to be killed on a case, she would be informed of it- if only because Mycroft would try to prevent her from receiving Sherlock's estate. It had been of little comfort, but Sherlock always came home to her and was extra attentive the longer he had been away.

"What are you thinking? The pork or the pasta?" Molly gave a small start at the sound of the smooth, baritone of her husband.

"Oh, it's you!" Molly couldn't stop herself from smiling broadly. It wasn't the first time Sherlock had surprised her at work at the end of one of his cases. Despite his distaste for the food, Sherlock would eat with her and then they would find a supply cupboard to desecrate in relieved welcome.

"This place in never going to trouble Egon Ronay, is it? I'd stick with the pasta- don't want to do roast pork. Not if you're slicing up cadavers." Sherlock gave her a small, teasing smile. He knew that Molly had an iron stomach when it came to her work. He had admitted to finding it charming when- before they had married- Molly had gone through a corpse's stomach contents and began to crave the final meal of the deceased. It was a testament to their compatibility. Sherlock had no interest in a woman who would be squeamish at such a thing and Molly was sick of men who were disgusted by her occupation.

"What are you having?" Molly's smile faltered slightly. She hoped he hadn't eaten with Doctor Watson. It wouldn't have entirely surprised her. They seemed to be inseparable lately. She wanted Sherlock to remember that he had married _her_ rather than John.

"Don't eat when I'm working. Digesting slows me down." They had been married long enough that Molly recognize the slight irritation in Sherlock's voice. He actually believed she'd forgotten this detail about him.

Molly looked down. She felt like kicking herself. "So you're working here tonight."

She felt stupid for making the error of thinking Sherlock had come to see her; that his case was finished.

"I need to examine some bodies," Sherlock said, his light blue gaze trained on Molly.

"Some?" Molly questioned, her brow furrowing slightly. She stared at Sherlock, her mouth agape.

"Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lukis."

She recognized the names. She looked down at her list. "They're on my list."

"Could you wheel them out again for me?" Sherlock was giving her that look. That look she'd seen so many times in the years she'd known him. The innocent, puppy-eyed look that could mean either 'do something horribly unethical' or 'I know you're exhausted but I want attention and probably sex'. There was probably something wrong with the look for both being the same.

It was a look that had proven most effective in the past, but Molly wasn't feeling all that generous. Sherlock didn't even have a word of apology or explanation for disappearing for a day. He just expected her to jump through hoops for him. "We-Well, the paperwork's already gone through." She tried to sound as meek as she could. She could out innocent Sherlock any day of the week and they both knew it.

Sherlock's brow furrowed as his gaze travelled up to her hairline. Molly frowned slightly as Sherlock eyed her. He lifted a gloved hand to point at her. "You've changed your hair."

"What?" Molly asked, a small laugh in her voice. Why on Earth was Sherlock changing the topic so quickly and to her hair of all things?

Sherlock continued to stare at her. "The style. It's usually parted in the middle."

Molly looked away from Sherlock, unsure how to respond to this current line of conversation. She had changed it on the recommendation of one of the nurses. "Yes, well..."

"It's good, um" Sherlock interrupted her. "Suits you better this way." He smiled.

Molly knew he was playing her. He was plying her with compliments in order to get his way. But she smiled back regardless. She was going to let him into the morgue and they both knew it. Showing him the bodies was going to help him finish his case and that would get him home faster. She turned away, continuing to smile. But that didn't mean she wasn't going to make him work for it.

* * *

Molly unzipped the body bag as Sherlock strode in along with the Detective Inspector he was working with. Molly noticed immediately that it wasn't Detective Inspector Lestrade, who she had come to know and trust with his work with Sherlock. No doubt his absence meant Sherlock had to jump through a lot more hoops than usual. Lestrade was the only one who really put up with Sherlock's seemingly mad requests.

"We're just interested in the feet." Sherlock said, his hands clasped behind his back.

Molly crinkled her nose. "The feet?"

"Yes," Sherlock whispered as he walked past Molly. He breath hit the back of her bared nape. Sherlock was an expert in covert flirtation. He turned to face her, walking backwards. "Do you mind if we have a look at them?" He smiled broadly. That smug, charming bastard.

Molly unzipped the feet. Now that Sherlock had mentioned them, she knew what he was looking for. She hadn't done the post-mortems back to back and there had been nothing suggesting they were connected, otherwise she would have connected them. On the bottom of Lukis's heel was the tattoo of a black lotus. At the sight, Sherlock got a small smile. "Now Van Coon."

Molly had a tiny anticipatory smile on her face as she revealed Van Coon's foot. She knew it was there. She loved watching her man be a genius, showing up this detective inspector. If he had the ambition he could have run all of Scotland Yard.

"Oh!" Sherlock said triumphantly as he turned to the detective inspector.

"So?" The young inspector drew out the word, unsure what to do next.

"So either these men just happened to visit the same Chinese tattoo parlour or I'm telling the truth," Sherlock said quickly, his patience for the man obviously razor thin.

It was a bit perverse how much of a turn on it was to see Sherlock run rough shot over one of London's finest. The inspector seemed completely humbled. "What do you want?"

"I want every book from Lukis's apartment. And Van Coon's," Sherlock spoke quickly.

"Their books?" The detective questioned.

"Bring them to Baker Street," Sherlock said. He waved the inspector off dismissively. "Quick as you can."

With a shake of his head, the inspector strode out of the morgue. He hadn't looked at Molly at all while he was in there and did not bother to say goodbye to her. She rolled her eyes. Lestrade was always quite nice to her. She definitely preferred him.

Sherlock hung back as Molly zipped up the body bags and pulled off her latex gloves, tossing them into the bin. He strode to her, cupping her face with hands still covered by leather gloves. He leaned in and kissed her decisively. "Your hair really does look fetching."

Molly crinkled her nose. "Don't need to butter me up. You got what you wanted."

Sherlock sighed. "I thought husbands were supposed say complimentary things about changes in their wives' appearances. "

Molly sighed. "Not when it's just to get a look at some feet."

"I did mean it," Sherlock assured her, playing with the loose hair at the base of her skull. "And you took advantage of the situation by hemming and hawing over showing me the bodies."

She shook her head, sighing once again. "So there's going to be books all over the flat."

"I'll be up all night going through them," Sherlock said. "John too. Care to join us?"

"And run the risk of John finding out you're married? Ruin your experiment?" Molly rolled her eyes, slipping her hands beneath Sherlock's coat to hug him. "Perish the thought. I've got a lot of paperwork to finish up. Gotten massively behind. I might as well finish up."

"Don't mean to kick you out of the flat," Sherlock sighed.

"Don't worry about it." Molly gave Sherlock a light smack on the rear. "Just finish up the case."

* * *

By the time Molly was finished her paperwork it was already dawn. Luckily, she had the day off of work. All she wanted to do was catch up on sleep.

The flat was in an absolute state: boxes, stacks and piles of books littered the sitting room. In the middle sat Sherlock, looking bored and frustrated, flipping through yet another book.

"Still at it?" Molly said in the midst of a yawn.

Sherlock didn't even look up from his work. "Care to help me out? John's gone off to work."

"Oh, has he found a job?" Molly leaned over Sherlock to press a kiss to his cheek. "I swear he and I exist in alternate realities. Or else we can't be in the same room without the universe imploding. He _is_ in fact a real person, yes? Not just someone you've made up?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Molly," Sherlock sighed. "You were in the room when I met him for the first time. So do I get your help?"

"I've been transcribing notes all night," Molly replied. "I can't even see straight."

"Lives are at stake," Sherlock pointed out as Molly headed towards the bedroom.

"With your work there are _always_ lives at stake," Molly called over her shoulder. "And unlike you, I can't run off of caffeine and nicotine patches."

"You know I miss you," Sherlock called out, closing the book he'd been looking at.

Molly came to a halt, turning back to Sherlock. "Huh?"

"Since you got your promotion. I miss you. You used to help me." Sherlock was frowning deeply. "In more than just showing me bodies."

"You have John to help you now," Molly murmured.

Sherlock rose from his chair. He brushed an errant hair out of Molly's face. "I didn't marry John."

Molly averted her gaze. "Is this like you complimenting me to get me to show you the bodies?"

"In that I am saying something entirely true in order to get what I want? Yes." Sherlock smiled down at her. "Only what I want is you."

Molly smiled back. "All right. I can last a few more hours before I fall over. But when I do finally fall over, you're going to let me do it, all right?"

Sherlock's smile grew. "Maybe by then I'll be able to fall over with you."

* * *

Sherlock had managed to keep Molly up for another four hours before she absolutely had to collapse in bed. Unfortunately, the case still wasn't anywhere near solved. Molly had decided it was time to go to bed when Sherlock started to get tetchy over his theory not working out.

She didn't know how long she had been asleep before she felt Sherlock in bed with her. He spooned her close. "We're going to the circus tonight, Molly."

Molly let out a small groan and blinked blearily. "Huh? Am I still asleep?"

"No, you're not," Sherlock replied, rolling Molly onto her back. "You've only been down for an hour. Now come on, get up and get dressed. There is a Chinese Circus in town. They're involved with the case. I've gotten three tickets. You can assure yourself that John actually _does_ exist." Sherlock paused. "Oh right. I do need to get a fourth ticket for John's date."

With great effort, Molly forced herself to sit up. She reached up, trying to smooth down her hair. It was a tangled mess. "Sherlock, are you asking me on a double date? One that is directly involved in your case?"

"Yes, that does seem to be the situation we have ended up in. It was not my original intention. I just wanted you and John to help me with the case."

Molly tried vainly to blink the sleep from her eyes. She reached to the bedside table to grab her glasses so she could see Sherlock properly. "You are kidding."

Sherlock frowned. "Why would I do that?"

Molly flopped back down into bed. "Remember when you took me dancing? One of the waiters had murdered and robbed five of his patrons."

"Oh right." Sherlock nodded. "Our anniversary."

"I got shot at," Molly grumbled, snuggling back down into her pillow.

"And I made sure the perpetrator ran into my fist a dozen times before the Yard arrived," Sherlock replied.

"You had also neglected to tell me you'd combined our anniversary with a case." Molly shut her eyes once again. "Dating and cases do not mix. If you were any sort of friend, you'd tell John to postpone his date."

"He won't do it," Sherlock sighed. "He is determined. Beside, as he has pointed out, he is just my colleague. You're not coming, are you?"

"Considering you need me to get ready right _now_ , I'm thinking no." Molly yawned. "I'm still behind on my paperwork. I was going to go in early and finish up before my shift starts."

"Molly..." Sherlock started, a definitive whine in his voice.

" _Sherlock_ ," Molly said firmly. "Go out to the circus with John tonight. Finish your case. But you're going to let me sleep. I have to handle scalpels for a living."

Sherlock grunted, but seemed to give up, leaning in and kissing Molly on the cheek. "Sleep well, Darling."

* * *

When Molly awoke next, she was jolted out of sleep by her husband. "Molly? Molly?"

Molly rubbed her eyes and blinked at Sherlock. He sounded absolutely panicked. "Sherlock, what's going on?"

Sherlock sighed in relief, jumping onto the bed and pulling Molly to him. He buried his face in his hair. "He didn't come back here."

"Who didn't come back here?" Molly asked.

"He must have moved quickly. One of the smugglers has kidnapped John and his date." He cradled Molly's face. "Go into work. Just... Be somewhere there is other people. I need to go rescue them."

"I'll come with you," Molly said quickly, getting out of bed to grab her clothes.

Sherlock shook his head. "No." He rose, halting her. "Just go into Barts. I'll take care of this." His eyes were wide and Molly could see the fear plain in his face. "I need to go."

"Be safe," Molly murmured.

Sherlock pulled Molly into a fierce kiss. He quickly pulled back and was out the door once again.

* * *

It was agonizing getting through the next day at work. Molly tried to focus on her paperwork. It didn't help that her computer gave up the ghost right when she was at the end of her transcriptions. She had some post-mortems scheduled and the guy who was fixing her computer wasn't going to be in for a few hours yet.

Somehow, Molly managed to get through it all. She had just finished up her last post-mortem when she saw Sherlock standing outside the morgue.

Molly couldn't stop herself. She pulled off her gloves, scrubbed off her hands and raced out the door. She threw her arms around him. "You're all right!"

"I'm always all right," Sherlock insisted. He hugged her back. "The case is closed. You're just getting off, yeah? Dinner?"

Molly beamed at him. "I just need a few. My computer's acting up. Why don't you go get us a table at Angelo's. I'll meet you there."

Sherlock nodded. "All right. I'll see you then." He gave her a quick kiss.

Molly watched Sherlock stride off down the corridor and turn the corner. She grinned like a fool as he went.

"Excuse me? You're having computer problems?"

Molly gave a small jump, turning to the new arrival. "Oh!" She frowned slightly. "I thought Peter was coming down."

"He had a family emergency. I can take care of it." The slender man held out a hand. "I'm Jim."

Molly shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Jim. I'm Molly."


	3. The Newlywed Game

Since John Watson had moved into 221B, Sherlock and Molly hadn't rowed. The army doctor had reinvigorated Sherlock's investigations. Molly was no longer dragged out on cases. Sherlock suspected Molly was feeling a bit insecure in her place in Sherlock's life now and wanted greatly to keep him happy.

When they did have arguments, it was usually because Sherlock had hurt Molly's feelings with thoughtless words. It was a rare situation that Sherlock's ire got up. Of course, he became tetchy with boredom, but his bad moods were never specifically focused on his wife.

Even as he yelled at his bride, Sherlock thought about how strange the situation was. He stood in the doorway of their bedroom while he watched her get dressed. Thankfully, John was out with Sarah and the couple could truly express their displeasure with one another.

"Can you _please_ just explain to me in why in the world you thought I would be all right with this?" Sherlock asked, his teeth gritted together.

Molly rolled her eyes before glancing up at him. "I didn't think you would be all right with it. I thought you would see it as a necessity."

"A _necessity_?" Sherlock repeated, snorting derisively. He shook his head slowly, still glaring at Molly. "While it is well documented that I am not the most informed of healthy marital practices, I am fairly certain my wife dating another man can in no way be construed as a _necessity_."

"I am not _dating_ Jim," Molly insisted as she rose from the bed. She went into the closet, pushing aside Sherlock's clothes to get at her own. Lack of space meant her dresser was shoved into the back of the closet behind his suits. "We're just going out to dinner."

Sherlock scowled. "Again, I am not an expert, but that sounds like a date."

Molly came out of the closet, clutching a jumper in her hands. "It is dinner. While _Jim_ may see it as a date, I most definitely do not. Because I am faithful to my husband."

Sherlock grunted, ruffling his hair. "So would you mind explaining to me just _why_ you are socializing with him if he believes you two are dating?"

Molly paused for a moment. Sherlock could see her visibly calm down. "Because. I am investigating him."

Sherlock couldn't stop himself. The laughter escaped him unbidden. "You're _what_?"

"I'm investigating him," Molly insisted, straightening up and puffing out her chest. "Why is that so hard to believe?" She looked like a kitten trying to prove itself a tiger.

Sherlock sighed, looking down at Molly, still chuckling. "And what nefarious deed do you think Jim from IT is up to?"

Molly worried her lower lip. "I think he's after you."

Sherlock immediately stopped laughing. His furrowed his brow as he stared at Molly. "What makes you think that?"

"I met him right after you closed the case with the Chinese smugglers," Molly explained. "He fixed my computer. He asked me out for coffee, but you and I were going to have dinner. Then he came by the next day to visit me in the office."

Sherlock narrowed his gaze on Molly once again. "I am still failing to see how this implies he's up to anything but trying to pursue you."

"Well, that's what I thought at first too," Molly said. "And I was trying to think of a way to let him down gently without letting him know we're married..."

"And what would be wrong with him knowing you're married?" Sherlock questioned.

Molly cocked her head. "It's not _me_ being married that's the problem. _You're_ the one with the problem with it. Your family is hellbent on keeping anyone from knowing about it. For Christ's sake, Mycroft has _actually_ hidden the marriage records."

Sherlock's brow lifted in surprise. "He has?" Perhaps he wasn't entirely surprised. Mycroft had always loathed his choice in partner. He just didn't think Mycroft would go to such extreme lengths. It hadn't mattered to Sherlock. All that mattered was that _he_ knew he was married to Molly. "Why would he do that?"

"So that if we divorce-- as he is _sure_ we will-- it will be like it never happened," Molly sighed.

Sherlock was going to have words with his brother about that. He could tell by the look on Molly's face as she explained the situation how much it hurt her that Mycroft had hidden their marriage so well. He wondered if he should come forward and admit to John about his marital status. He winced inwardly at the thought. He knew John would be angry about being kept in the dark for so long.

Sherlock decided to push the unpleasant-- and irrelevant-- thoughts aside to focus on Molly's current endeavour. "You still haven't explained why you think Jim is 'after me'."

"He's been asking a lot of questions about you," Molly explained. She wrung the jumper she held her hands. "He's very focused on my interactions with you. Laser-focused. It just... Rung a bell."

"A bell," Sherlock repeated slowly, nodding.

Molly sighed. "Call it women's intuition. Call it I'm married to the world's only consulting detective and I've picked up a few things. I just thought it merited investigation."

"Fine," Sherlock said quickly. "I'll investigate him. I'll cancel my trip to Belarus."

"No!" Molly cried. She finally pulled on her jumper, her voice muffing. "I can handle this on my own. Do you remember before your boyfriend moved in, when I helped you on cases? I can handle a simple investigation."

Sherlock felt a new wave of irritation rising in him. "An investigation that involves you dating a potentially dangerous suspect."

Molly crossed her arms over her chest, arching her brow in clear challenge. "Do I need to remind you of the Countess?"

Sherlock sighed. "You're a pathologist, Molly. I'm the consulting detective. It's my job."

"You made up your job, Sherlock," Molly pointed out. "If I want to be the Detective Pathologist, then you know what? I am." She reached up and cupped his face. "Go to Belarus. Give me a few more days to investigate Jim. By the time you're back, I should have a better idea as to why he's so interested in you." She got up on tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

Sherlock sighed against Molly's mouth. "You're not wearing that jumper."

Molly pulled back. "And why not?"

Sherlock scowled. "I bought you that jumper for your birthday. If you're going out with someone else, you're not going to be wearing something I bought you."

Molly crinkled her nose. "I've married a child."

* * *

The first thing Sherlock did when he returned from Belarus was go to Barts. The details of the argument that had eventually led to the murder of the wife left him wanting to see his own bride, make sure she was all right. Especially with her 'investigation' still in progress.

He found her just about to step out of her office. He nudged her back into it, dropping his overnight bag on the floor and shutting the door behind him. He backed her up until she was against her desk, kissing her soundly. "I am back."

"I see that," Molly murmured against his mouth between kisses. "How was the case?"

"Not worth my time," Sherlock replied. "Domestic gone wrong. Nothing to investigate. Your door locks, doesn't it?"

Small hands pressed against Sherlock's chest, pushing him back. "Sherlock, I have a post-mortem. I can't just drop it because you've gotten home."

Sherlock sighed and relented. Molly was of course the most qualified pathologist at Barts. He couldn't keep her from her work. "But I missed you and I'm bored."

Molly reached up and ruffled Sherlock's hair. He hated and loved the gesture in equal measure. "Go into storage. There's a fresh head for that experiment you mentioned before you left."

Sherlock smiled down at Molly. "You got me a head."

Molly beamed up at him. "Of course I did. You wanted one."

Sherlock kissed Molly's forehead fondly before giving her a peck on the lips. "I'm sure it will keep me occupied until you get home. You're getting off at six, yes?"

Molly withdrew quickly, looking away. Definitely ashamed, Sherlock noted. "Um, well... I'm going out for a drink after work. With Jim."

Sherlock felt as if he was doused with cold water at the mention of the name. "Why do you need to go out with him _again_?"

"I didn't expect you back so soon!" Molly cried. She started towards the door. Sherlock grabbed his bag and trailed after her.

"Really not the issue, Molly," Sherlock grumbled.

Molly whirled around to him. "I told him I'd go out with him for a drink. I'm not going to be rude."

Sherlock shook his head. "You don't want to be rude to the man you think wants to cause me harm."

"I know he wants you," Molly replied. "I just don't know what he wants you _for_. Maybe he's one of Mycroft's plants. Can you please just let me figure this out?"

"But--" Sherlock started.

"I have to do my post-mortem, Sherlock," Molly insisted. "Just go home. Grab the head and do your experiment. I'll be home later."

Sherlock glared at Molly for a long moment. He then turned and strode down the corridor.

"Sherlock?" Molly called after him. "Please don't leave like _that_."

Sherlock didn't break his stride, completely ignoring Molly's request.

* * *

Sherlock's experiment on the severed head Molly had acquired for him did nothing to occupy his time. He had made some notes before sticking it in the refrigerator. After that, he was just left to think. John was still at the surgery. And Molly was with _Jim_.

He'd changed into his pyjamas and dressing gown. There was no one to dress up for at home. First he'd read through John's blog. He'd updated it with a grossly exaggerated retelling of the cab driver case. Sherlock had put his computer aside in disgust. He was left to stew on his thoughts of Molly. Molly, who was out with _Jim_. Having drinks with _Jim_. Ignoring his homecoming to spend time with some wanker from IT.

While Molly was not a terrible investigator, Sherlock had severe doubts as to her suspicions in this case. While there were a great number of people that would like to cause him harm, he doubted any of them would choose to go through Molly. One of the reasons he stayed so intensely private about his marriage was to keep Molly safe from reprisal by those he crossed. To almost everyone, Molly presented as work colleague and little more.

If this Jim was really, truly attempting to get to him through Molly, that meant he had left himself open. Of course, Molly believed he didn't know the extent of their relationship. Jim was attempting to play with Molly's affections.

But was he? Or was he perhaps just a randy IT worker who found a pretty pathologist.

But Molly believed him to be something worth investigating. Perhaps she enjoyed his company and was deluding herself into believing it was something nefarious simply so she could be around him. Maybe she knew full well what she was doing and was just telling Sherlock she was investigating.

Either way, it was bothering him. Jim. Idiotic, handsome Jim. He _would_ be handsome, wouldn't he? If he weren't, there was no way Molly would go about her investigation in this manner.

Sherlock pulled himself out of his chair and grabbed up a can of yellow spray paint, a relic from the Van Coon case. He aimed it at the wall, painting a large smiling face. He imagined the smug computer expert.

"Oh Jim," Sherlock spoke in a sarcastic falsetto as he tossed the spray can aside. "You're evil and have absolutely horrid things planned for my husband, don't you? Well, I'm going to stop you by _dating you to death._ "

Sherlock threw himself back down into his chair. He picked up his mobile, typing out a quick message:

_Are you done yet?  
-SH_

After about five minutes-- four minutes longer than a reply should have taken-- he got an answer:

_Will you please just relax?  
-MH_

Sherlock sneered at the reply and threw his phone aside. He then noticed the gun on the table beside him. Both John and Molly chided him for leaving it out, citing gun safety regulations.

Barely even glancing at the wall, Sherlock raised the gun. He fired at the face he'd painted.

Stupid Jim.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" John demanded as he stormed into the flat.

Sherlock lowered the gun as he looked at his flatmate. "Bored."

* * *

Sherlock's ears were still ringing from the explosion. There was a dull ache in his neck from where his head had snapped back as he was jerked forward with the force of the explosion.

He had refused treatment from the emergency workers who had come to Baker Street. He was however standing nearby as Mrs Hudson was looked over.

"Miss, you can't come through," Sherlock could hear one of the police officers speaking insistently. "This is a crime scene."

"But my--" He recognized the voice, even laced with panic. " _SHERLOCK!_ "

Sherlock turned to the emergency worker caring for Mrs Hudson. "Will she be all right?"

The emergency worker nodded. "She's just shaken up, Sir."

Sherlock gave Mrs Hudson a brief nod. "I'll be back, Mrs Hudson."

 Sherlock strode away from the ambulance and down the street, ducking under the police tape that surrounded the perimeter. He saw Molly squaring off against the police officer who was nearly a foot taller than her, trying to keep her from the scene. He was almost tempted to hang back and watch it unfold. He suspected Molly would win.

"Molly," Sherlock called out as he walked towards her.

"Sherlock!" Molly raced to him, throwing her arms around his neck with no regard to the fact they were in public. "Are you all right?"

Sherlock wanted to tell her that it was indecorous to be so close in public. He wanted to tell her that he'd hurt his neck, but instead he just closed his eyes and enjoyed feeling her arms around him. "I'm fine," he breathed.

"There was a news report and... Oh, Sherlock." Molly's eyes filled with tears.

Sherlock pulled back and touched a hand to Molly's cheek. "You're crying."

"Of course I am!" Molly sniffled, grabbing a hold of Sherlock's jacket. "The last thing we did was fight and then I heard... I heard... Oh Sherlock..."

Sherlock tilted Molly's chin up. He ignored the presence of the emergency workers. They were too busy cleaning up the mess of the explosion anyway. He needed to reassure his wife. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers. Molly's fingers slipped up into his hair, threading in the curls.

"I'm sorry," Molly gasped against his mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"It's all right," Sherlock murmured, stroking a hand up and down her back. He withdrew finally, looking down at her tearstained face. "I'm fine, Molly."

"I should have been with you," Molly replied. She buried her face in his chest. She was speaking quickly, still panicked despite his reassurances. "You could have died. While I was out--"

Sherlock cradled Molly's face, shushing her. "Molly, I'm going to help the police investigate this explosion. Can you please take Mrs Hudson to your flat for the night and take care of her?"

Molly sighed resignedly and Sherlock knew the exact meaning of the drawn out breath. Molly hated to be reminded that Sherlock was still paying for her former flat-- well, technically, _their_ former flat, as they had both resided there early in their marriage.

"You still have your furniture there," Sherlock pointed out. "And it's cheaper than storage."

"I don't need my furniture," Molly murmured.

"Ah, but where would you go when things finally dissolve, Miss Hooper?" Sherlock winced at the smug voice a few feet away. Of course.

"Mycroft," Sherlock gripped Molly's shoulder so tight, the girl let out a small squeal. "It is bad form make disparaging comments about someone else's marriage."

Mycroft tilted his head slightly. "Oh? Have we gotten out of the habit of saying things that are true, Sherlock?"

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock hissed at his brother. If he wasn't careful, he was going to bruise Molly with how tightly he held her shoulder.

"As always," Mycroft smirked, his eyes flashing with the simmering malevolence that their family seemed to be genetically disposed to. "I am concerned with your wellbeing. There was an explosion here tonight."

Sherlock narrowed his gaze upon Mycroft. Ah, he had come to him with a case. It was something big too. The only thing Mycroft disapproved of more than his marriage was his decision to be a consulting detective.

Sherlock leaned in towards Molly. He wasn't close enough to touch her, but he could see her shiver slightly from the feel of breath against her skin. "Let me introduce you to Mrs Hudson so you can take her home."

Molly looked up at Sherlock. Her eyes were wide and shining with unshed tears. "Sherlock, I--"

Sherlock nodded briefly. He knew what she wanted to say. What she was afraid to say in public. "I know, Molly. I always know."

* * *

Sherlock and Mycroft were highly adept at staring contests. Sherlock sat in his favourite chair, his fingers idly plucking lightly at the strings of his violin.

"She's not going anywhere, Mycroft," Sherlock challenged. "I suggest if you want to maintain any sort of familial relationship that you come to terms with this."

Mycroft arched a brow. "Those are strong words, Sherlock. Surprising words. You know full well the impermanence of the supposed 'to death do us part'. What makes you think you are so different?"

Sherlock narrowed his gaze on his brother. "Because I would never engage in such an endeavour if I was uncertain of its chances of success."

Mycroft smirked back toothily. "You had only been involved romantically with Miss Hooper for a week when you made your decision to wed."

"I had already known her for three years before that," Sherlock countered.

Mycroft continued unabated. "...You were still suffering the symptoms of withdrawal. Is love the real reason you joined in your union... Or misplaced gratitude?"

The ping of Sherlock's finger pulling at his violin strings was sharp and harsh. He very nearly broke the string. He took a deep breath. "I have told you... You are not to question my wife."

For a long time, Mycroft just stared at Sherlock. He could see the thinly veiled disgust. He truly loathed Molly, incorrectly assuming she was after the Holmes family coffers. The hypothesis was without any credible substance, coming solely from their mother, hence why Mycroft believed it so wholeheartedly. Mother was less astute at deduction than Mycroft or Sherlock. But Mycroft's slavish devotion blinded him to the truth behind Molly's motives.

It was why Sherlock had not been home since Molly. It was why he would _not_ go home until his wife was welcome as well.

Mycroft was always so quick to point out how Sherlock had broken "Mummy's" heart by refusing to come home. The truth was that Father had broken her heart, destroying her belief in a marriage for love. It was why Mycroft refused to marry.

It was also why Mycroft had to rely on spies to find out anything substantial about Sherlock's life. At one time, Sherlock had believed the notion. Mycroft was determined to make him believe it once again.

"How about you just get to the point, Mycroft? Why are you really here?" Sherlock demanded.

Mycroft stared at Sherlock from the seat that so often these days seemed to hold John. "Happily married men do not acquire roommates, Sherlock. Especially not ones who are unaware there is a marriage to speak of."

"I am not hiding Molly out of shame," Sherlock insisted. "I am not hiding her at all. It's an experiment in the awareness of others."

"Of course," Mycroft chuckled. "How long do you think you can keep using that excuse, Sherlock?"

Without saying another word, Sherlock continued to glare at his brother. Eventually, Mycroft would get around to telling Sherlock exactly what case he'd brought to him. But it seemed, for now, staring contest was going to continue.

* * *

Mrs Hudson was back at Baker Street by the time Sherlock had gone to examine 221C. Of course. Aside from the blasted out windows 221 Baker Street was fit for habitation.

When he yelled for Mrs Hudson, the matronly landlady bustled out of her flat. "Oh Sherlock!" She looked at the Detective Inspector warily. "Is everything all right? I thought things had been sorted."

"Not yet, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock replied, still staring at the door to the basement flat. "I need to get into the basement."

"Whyever would you need to do that, Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson asked. She then gave John a smile. "Oh, John... Your lady-friend got herself off to work a few hours ago. She's absolutely _lovely_."

Sherlock finally took his attention away from the door to look at John, whose hairline seemed to have raised in his confusion. "What are you talking about, Mrs Hudson?"

"Molly Hooper is not John's lady-friend," Sherlock interrupted quickly. He kept his eyes on John. It was the perfect time for him to reveal his relationship with Molly. If it had just been John, he might have done it. However, he didn't want to open his relationship to the Detective Inspector as well. "She heard about the explosion on the news. Wanted to make sure we were all right. She will be pleased to hear you approve of her."

Sherlock could feel Mrs Hudson scrutinizing him. "I was sure I had seen Molly coming and going from your flat..."

Turning his attention back to the door, Sherlock narrowed his gaze, as if he could will the door open by pure thought alone. "Please do be quick about the key, Mrs Hudson. There is a bomber on the loose."

"Oh dear!" Mrs Hudson said, bustling off once again.

Sherlock could feel both John and Lestrade watching him. He resolutely kept his gaze on the door. "Don't be so shocked, Lestrade. You know Molly used to assist me on cases. It's unfeasible for her to continue at crime scenes with me with her promotion, but that does not mean she does not still assist me with my experiments at home." That was a quick, clean answer.

But Sherlock knew John was still staring. Was surprised he had any sort of interest in a woman, romantic or not. "Molly Hooper used to come out with you on cases? That girl from the morgue who gets you coffee?"

Sherlock briefly glanced at John. "What? She also makes good coffee." He turned back to the door. "Mrs Hudson! Quite quickly!"

* * *

Sherlock had convinced John to say hello to Mike Stamford while he got permission to use the laboratory at Barts.

He had credentials to make this unnecessary, but he needed a moment with Molly. He strode up to her as she stared down at the paperwork on her desk. Stretching, Sherlock leaned over her desk and dropped a kiss on the back of her neck.

Molly looked up and smiled brightly. "Oh! Hello! I didn't expect to see you in today. I'd heard the explosion at Baker Street was a gas leak."

Sherlock shook his head. "Deliberate. And our bomber has giving me a game." He held up the pink mobile.

Molly frowned. "That looks like the phone from _A Study in Pink_."

Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes. "You're reading John's blog too." He shoved the phone back into his pocket.

Molly got out of her chair and cupped Sherlock's face. "Sherlock, there is nothing John Watson can tell me about you that I don't already know and have accepted as one of your many, many quirks."

Sherlock crinkled his nose and pulled away from Molly. She frowned at him at his coldness, but he continued, looking down at her. "The bomber was able to get into 221C. Until this is settled, I want you to stay at your flat."

Molly worried her lower lip. He could almost see the proverbial gears turning in her head. "All right," she replied reluctantly. "But once this is over, can we _please_ discuss giving up the flat? They say once you've had your first wedding anniversary, it's a good time to officially move in with a bloke."

"I only have twelve hours until the woman he's kidnapped gets blown up, Molly," Sherlock tugged down his jacket as he stood up straight. The woes of domestic life would have to wait until he wasn't delightfully entertained by a clever mystery. "I'll be down in the lab running trace samples."

He turned and strode towards the door. He could hear Molly's resigned sigh. "I'll be down to help you in a mo."

* * *

"Any luck?" Molly called out, her voice far too chipper as she entered the laboratory.

"Oh yes," Sherlock replied, feeling incredibly pleased with himself while Molly peeked at the computer screen beside Sherlock. John was milling in the background. Sherlock was almost amused at how the pair refused to interact even whilst in the same room.

The door to the laboratory opened once again. He was a slight, small man in a grey v-neck so tight, he looked to be half-dressed. "Oh, sorry, I--" His voice was mild and hesitant, almost like Molly's when she became nervous.

"Oh! Jim!" Molly squeaked, her voice far more excited than Sherlock's liking. "Hi! I-- Come in! Come in!"

Sherlock's gaze flicked to Jim, appraising him quickly, before sweeping back to his wife, gauging her interest in the man. He didn't seem like much, but she did seem to be displaying far more interest than a case would warrant. Had she really picked up so many skills of deception from him?

Sherlock turned his attention back to his microscope. He had other things to concentrate on. Things that made _sense_ to him. Molly's moods were mercurial and deducing them were always troublesome. The puzzle presented to him, on the other hand, would have one clear explanation. He just needed to find it.

"Jim," Molly said cheerfully. "This is Sherlock Holmes. And uhhh... Sorry..."

Oh, she really _was_ acting, wasn't she? Pretending she didn't know John's name. Of course, it was only the second time they'd been in the same room together. John only knew _her_ name because Mrs Hudson had mentioned her before. What was Molly playing at? A subtle jab at him for keeping her and John apart. It had not been intentional. Her slavish devotion to work had caused her and John not to cross paths. Yet he was still receiving the blame. Interesting.

"John Watson," John provided. "Hi." Sherlock could hear the discomfort in his voice. Was John wondering about his relationship with Molly? How the chipper, pixie of a Pathologist had formerly come out on cases with him?

"Hi," Jim said eagerly to Sherlock. "So you're Sherlock Holmes," there was breathless eagerness in Jim's voice as he spoke. "Molly's told me all about you. Are you on one of your cases?"

Sherlock didn't look away from his microscope. Of all of the times for him to be bothered by Molly's obsession with Jim.

"Jim works in IT upstairs. That's how we met," Molly explained unnecessarily. She really was putting on a show. She was incredibly _pleased_ with herself. With her investigation. But Sherlock had more interesting things to focus on than Jim from IT.

Then Molly said the words that made Sherlock want to end the investigation cold. "Office romance," she was far too happy, laughing along with Jim.

Office romance _indeed_. This was going to stop. Now.

 Sherlock turned back to Jim, giving him a quick once over. Oh, that was rich. He knew Molly had been overreacting. He turned back to his microscope. "Gay."

Molly stopped grinning. He knew it without even looking at her. It was clear in her voice her upset at his quick dismissal of her theory. "Sorry. What?"

"Nothing. Um-- Hey." Sherlock smiled tightly at Jim and the man smiled back eagerly. A part of Sherlock was tempted to laugh at Molly missing the obvious motivation. The other part of him wanted to slug Jim for toying with Molly simply to meet him.

"Hey," Jim replied, foolishly knocking over a dish.

Sherlock looked down on him in every sense of the word as he picked up the dish, not-so-subtly sliding his phone number beneath it. _This_ was the man that had caused him to shoot holes in the wall. _This_ was the man who had made him row with Molly.

Well, that had all been pointless, hadn't it?

"Well, I better be off," Jim said. Sherlock took a breath, trying to control himself as Jim approached Molly, putting a hand on her back. "I'll see you at the Fox. Around six-ish?"

"Yeah!" Molly agreed enthusiastically.

"It was nice to meet you," Jim said, sounding like some lovesick puppy.

Sherlock did not reply. John answered for him, some sort of half-baked sentiment.

If Sherlock opened his mouth to say anything more in Jim's presence, he was going to have to have a rather long conversation with John. If he spoke, he'd rip into Jim, telling him-- gay or not-- to take his hands _off_ Sherlock's wife. That Molly's Mata Hari routine was tiresome, pointless... and she was _his_!

But no, Sherlock chose instead to focus once again on his microscope. There was only a few hours left. He wasn't going to get distracted from his puzzle just because Molly was being foolish.

"What do you mean _gay_?" Molly questioned, her voice filled with irritation. "We're together!"

Sherlock finally took his eyes off the microscope to look over Molly. "And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pound since I last saw you."

His dig didn't even make sense. He had seen Molly that morning-- even _John_ knew that. He was blinded by the feelings bubbling up inside him at Molly's declaration of her 'togetherness' with Jim. But she had in fact put on weight during the time she'd been seeing Jim. Since he'd really gotten the chance to see her. She'd been so distracted with _him_. Probably from all that horrible pub food they'd been eating.

"Two and a half," Molly said, her voice flat.

He'd touched a nerve. He knew he would as soon as he said it. Molly was always sensitive when he pointed out fluctuations in her weight.

At the moment, he didn't care. "Three."

"He's not gay!" Molly protested. "Why do you have to spoil-- he's not!"

"With that level of personal grooming?" Sherlock laughed.

He went through his deductions when John scoffed at him and Molly continued to stare in disbelief.

"You better _break it off now_ and save yourself the pain," Sherlock finished. Molly continued to stare at him like he was something she'd never seen before.

She turned and fled from the room. Sherlock didn't understand what he problem was. Maybe he had gone too far with his jab about her weight. But what had happened? She had _wanted_ him to deduce Jim.

"Charming. Well done," John replied sarcastically.

"I'm just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?" Sherlock asked. Molly had believed Jim was after Sherlock for nefarious purposes. Wasn't it _better_ that all he was interested in was pursuing Sherlock romantically?

Or had Molly truly enjoyed his attentions?

Sherlock couldn't focus on Molly. Time was running out and he was determined to solve the puzzle left by the bomber. He couldn't bother with domestic trifles at the moment.

As John continued to berate Sherlock for his callous treatment of Molly, Sherlock examined the shoe he had been left. It was time to get back to work.

* * *

Seven hours. That was how long Sherlock had left to complete the first challenge. But before he went any further, there was something he had to do.

The fact that the shoes had belonged to Carl Powers had rattled him in a way he had never felt on a case. He had known the bomber was clever, but this was beyond comparison. It was the first case Sherlock had ever investigated. He was utterly focused on Sherlock.

Whomever he was up against, Sherlock had finally found a worthy opponent.

As much faith as he had in himself, he wasn't going to go up against someone as clever as he with Molly still angry with him.

"You haven't been eating enough with your hectic work schedule." Sherlock shut the door behind him once he was inside Molly's office. She was scribbling furiously on a report. "The weight you have put on really does suit you."

Molly slammed her pen down on the desk and glared up at Sherlock. "You are really not one to talk about not eating enough."

Sherlock nodded. It was a fair point. He took a step towards Molly's desk. "I am about to match wits with the man who blew the windows out of our flat. You have previously mentioned your distress at leaving angry when I am in danger. Perhaps we should settle things."

Molly stood up. He could see the unshed tears in her eyes. "I'm not angry at you, Sherlock. I'm angry at myself."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. He walked around the desk to cup Molly's face. "Molly?"

"Of _course_ Jim is gay," Molly exclaimed. "It makes perfect sense. I wanted him to be something more because..." She looked down.

Sherlock frowned, stroking his thumb over her cheek.

Molly shook her head, frustrated with herself. "I just wanted you to be _proud_ of me. I wanted to do an investigation all on my own. Be of use to you for more than just letting you into the morgue or giving you body parts. You don't need me now that you've got John."

Sherlock couldn't believe what he was hearing. Not needing Molly? Was she utterly mad? "Molly, you were the one who didn't want to go on investigations with me any longer."

Molly peered up at him once again, biting her lower lip. "But does that mean..."

"You're my wife, Molly," Sherlock brushed a lock of her hair out of her face. "That's all you need to be." He drew her close to him. "Jim being romantically interested in me is the best possible scenario. You don't understand what I was feeling. The idea that someone was trying to harm me-- by going through you."

He pressed his cheek to the top of her head. "The reason I'm so quiet about _us_ is so that the people I go up against can't use you. Can't hurt you to get to me." He curled his arms around her, feeling her small, warm form against him. "And you were tempting it. Investigating someone you thought wanted to hurt me. Pretended you had feelings for him."

"Well, I won't do that anymore," Molly's fingers gripped at his jacket.

Sherlock tilted Molly's chin up and smoothed his mouth over hers. He eased himself into a deep, lingering kiss. He allowed himself to fall into the affection, Molly's hands slipping around him and running up his back.

But all too soon, he had to pull away from the comforting embrace of his wife. "Bomber," Sherlock murmured. "I have to go."

"If you get yourself blown up, I'm going to be cross," Molly murmured. "Be careful."

Sherlock nodded. "I will keep that in mind. I'll see you when this is over." He strode back towards the door.

He hesitated for a moment before leaving. He then turned around. "Oh and Molly?"

"Yes Sherlock?" Molly brightened.

Sherlock scowled. "Break your date with Jim."

* * *

Jim.

Jim from IT.

Jim Moriarty.

Jim Moriarty, the Consulting Criminal.

He had been the one who set everything up. He had been following Sherlock for months, possible years. He had abducted John. Strapped Semtex to him and threatened to blow him up if Sherlock didn't do exactly as commanded.

He had been alone with Molly a dozen times over. If anyone was clever enough to know how much of a chink-- no, the _gaping hole_ \-- Molly was in his armour, it was Jim Moriarty.

_I will burn the heart out of you._

Sherlock had played it cool. He hadn't betrayed his feelings. He wouldn't dare give away how he felt about Molly. Not when Moriarty was clearly unaware.

He had used Molly for her apparent crush. A fact-finding mission. Moriarty had thought her useless other than for information.

If he had known the truth, it would not have been John with a bomb strapped to his chest.

He could see her in his mind's eye. Shaking, tears in her eyes. Stammering as she repeated the words Moriarty forced her to speak.

He had told John he needed to be alone in a cab on the way back to 221B. Instead, he told the driver to go to his old flat. The one he had shared with Molly in the nascent stage of their marriage.

She looked at him at as soon as he stepped through the door. Her hair was back in a messy ponytail and she wore her glasses. She had been working on files. "Sherlock?" She questioned.

Sherlock strode to her without a word. He yanked her to her feet and pulled her glasses off. His fingers buried in her hair and met her in a forceful, ravenous kiss.

"Sher--" Molly tried to speak between kisses. Sherlock hummed against her mouth, shaking his head. His hand slipped around her, crushing her against him. He wanted to feel every inch of her against him.

"Sherlock!" Molly finally managed to jerk herself away from him. They were both taking deep, ragged breaths. "What on Earth has gotten into you?" She pressed her hands to his chest. "Not that I don't like you showing affection, I would appreciate if you didn't try to eat my fa--"

"Jim was the bomber," Sherlock gasped. He brought his hands up to cradle Molly's face. "You were right."

"--ace," Molly finished weakly. Her brow knit and her nose crinkled. "What?"

"You were right. I was wrong." Sherlock pressed his forehead against hers. "Jim is Moriarty. My fan. The one who sponsored Jeff Hope. Killed Carl Powers. Strapped all of those people to bombs, including John."

"Doctor Watson?" Molly gasped. "Is he--?"

"He's fine," Sherlock assured her. "Moriarty, he's..." Sherlock shook his head. He breathed in her scent, relieved to find her in one piece. He knew rationally she would be, but rational seemed to often go out the window when Molly was involved.

"So I was right," Molly whispered, a small smile on her face.

Sherlock pulled back, looking down at her. "Molly, if you ever do something so unbelievably and utterly _stupid_ I'll--I'll--" He didn't know how to continue, trying to come up with a credible threat, but he was just so relieved she was all right he was coming up short. "He could have killed you."

"But I'm here," Molly assured Sherlock. "I'm _fine_."

"If he had known," Sherlock insisted. "If he had ever found out about us, he would have... He just thinks you have a crush on me. And he still used you. If he had known how I felt about you..."

"Then we'll make sure he doesn't," Molly replied. She got up on her tip-toes to kiss Sherlock tenderly. "If anyone can keep his feelings a secret, it's you."

Sherlock remained quiet for a moment, considering the options. He then nodded his head.

"Now." Molly gripped Sherlock's coat. "Can we talk about this me being right and you being wrong thing? And this _you nearly got blown up_ thing?"

Sherlock pulled Molly back to him roughly, kissing her soundly once again. He began to walk her back towards the bedroom. "Molly, I am going to have to insist you shut up."


	4. The Husband in Baskerville

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline of series two is a bit sporked compared to series one. Baskerville kind of exists in this nebulous place. Since Mrs Hudson's dress-- which she wore immediately following the first incident with Irene Adler-- is supposed to be new in Baskerville, I decided to set it during the whole 'case montage' at the beginning. Just my own judgment call.

It had been several months since Molly had moved out of 221B. She was settled in her new-old flat, having snuck her things out of home in increments. No one had noticed her vacate the premises. It was like she had never been there.  
  
It was difficult to adjust to it. While Sherlock did not sleep with her every night, she could usually feel his presence when she slumbered. He would be in the flat, doing some sort of experiment or playing the violin. And every once and a while, when she was really lucky, he would slip into bed with her, taking her in his arms and she would know that he loved her.  
  
Now it was like their marriage had never happened. Of course, she knew rationally that it _had_ \-- it was still going on, but rationality often went out the window when it came to Sherlock Holmes.  
  
It was just for the time being. Just until Sherlock apprehended Moriarty.  
  
But how long would that be?  
  
And what would happen when Moriarty was in custody? Would things go back to normal? Or would Sherlock have decided that he rather liked living as a bachelor again, dashing about London alongside John Watson?  
  
Sherlock would take the time to visit her. He spent more time at Barts doing experiments. He would linger when they were finished. He would barricade her office door and reacquaint himself with her scent, with her touch. She would slide her fingers into his elegant curls while he nipped at her skin and nuzzled her throat.  
  
On extremely rare and precious occasion, she'd woken up to the bed rustling, Sherlock climbing in alongside her. His long limbs would curl around her. He made no demands of her, just wanting a restful night sleep. The first time he did it, he murmured that he didn't know how to properly sleep without Molly anymore. He had grown too used to her presence over the past year and a half. She gladly accepted him, never feeling more secure than when she was in his arms.  
  
Molly had taken to wearing her wedding ring when she was at home. She couldn't get away with it at work, not with putting her hands into open cadavers on a regular basis. Even with gloves on, she'd rather not wear the elegant ring Sherlock had bought her.  
  
It gave her a connection to him, even when he wasn't there. Knowing that no matter what, she was still his wife.  
  
Molly couldn't figure out if she was really spending less time with Sherlock now or if it was just an illusion. Certainly, they were both busy people. He had always gone out on his cases and she had often worked late. But it was different now. Now, they didn't call the same place home. Now, she craved his presence. He seemed to feel the same. She appreciated how he eagerly kissed her upon seeing her and would text her just to tell her to sleep well.  
  
Sherlock's popularity has skyrocketed since he had begun working with Doctor Watson-- John, as he was insisting Molly call him. While she was no longer living at 221B, she still frequently stopped by. Mrs Hudson was fond of having her over for tea and getting her to take away the medical waste Sherlock left in the refrigerator. It would also provide an excuse to steal a moment or two with Sherlock.  
  
She'd finally become acquainted with the man who had effectively 'stolen' her husband.  
  
It was no wonder Sherlock found him so fascinating. He was dead clever, loyal and incredible fun to be around. A bit of a hound when it came to women, which Molly had unfortunately discovered. It was incredibly awkward turning him down for his date offer without revealing she and Sherlock were married, although he quickly figured out the reason for her dismissal of him-- in part, at least. While she might have been able to hide their marriage, she was unable to hide her feelings.  
  
Sherlock seemed to be working non-stop now. She couldn't quite figure out his voracious need for work. Oh, of course he'd always been eager to keep busy. However, it had reached new peaks now. Perhaps it was because he had found a good partner in John. Maybe it was that he was just more in demand now with John's blog advertising him. Or maybe-- just maybe-- he was trying to distract himself from Molly being gone by working all of the time.  
  
Regardless, Molly was getting quite the scrapbook of clippings about her husband. He was actually being written about in legitimate papers, as opposed to blogs. Not that the blogs were anything to sneeze at. The Speckled Blonde, the Geek Interpreter, The Aluminium Crutch... John Watson certainly had a way with words and it made Sherlock all the more popular, something which Molly was taking full advantage of.  
  
"Ooh, it's another picture of you in the hat," Molly teased, her mobile carefully clutched between her head and shoulder and she pulled her knickers on to get ready for work.  
  
"That bloody hat." Molly could _hear_ his scowl.  
  
Molly grinned cheekily. "I think it's--"  
  
"Don't say it," Sherlock snapped angrily.  
  
Molly giggled softly as she grabbed her bra. "I think it's cute." She pulled on her bra and looked down at the photo from the paper. "There's my man." She traced a finger lovingly over his face.  
  
Sherlock paused for a moment. Molly giggled again, grabbing her jumper.  
  
"I'm freshly showered," Sherlock's voice was low and dark.  
  
"Are you now?" Molly took the phone back in hand. "Just get back from a case, did you?"  
  
"Had to harpoon a pig," Sherlock explained. "Was covered head to foot in blood. Had to take the tube because the cabs wouldn't take me."  
  
Molly crinkled her nose. "Hm. I had thought you were trying to seduce me."  
  
"I was," Sherlock purred.  
  
Molly rolled her eyes as she slipped on her khakis. "Maybe you should have thought about that before you mentioned the pig's blood."  
  
"But I'm clean now," Sherlock replied. "Very fresh smelling. Let me come over and you can find out."  
  
Molly sighed, picking up her satchel. "I can't, Sherlock. I'm just about to head out."  
  
"But I'm bored!" Sherlock exclaimed.  
  
Molly paused as she was picking up her keys. "Sherlock, are you telling me that you would like to have sex to stave off boredom?"  
  
"I believe it goes without saying that your absence is also felt," Sherlock replied tersely. "I want to be with you."  
  
Molly fiddled with her keys, looking down. "It was your idea. All of this. I want to be with you too. More than anything. Why don't we just tell everyone?"  
  
Sherlock groaned. "Can't I just come over, have sex with you and then leave?"  
  
Molly rolled her eyes once again. "You don't booty call your wife."  
  
" _Booty call?_ " Sherlock repeated. "What on Earth is that? It sounds ghastly."  
  
"It's where you call someone with the express purpose of trying to get them to have sex with you without any preliminaries such as a date."  
  
Sherlock paused. "Oh. Well. That actually sounds..."  
  
Molly's eyes narrowed. "Watch it. I will make you sleep on the sofa for a month."  
  
Sherlock sighed. "You don't even live here any longer."  
  
"Don't care. Sofa. Month."  
  
Sherlock went quiet for a long time. "Once it's safe. Once Moriarty is gone. We'll tell everyone."  
  
"Is it ever going to be safe?" Molly questioned. She worried her lower lip. "So it's Moriarty now... But what happens with the next one? And the one after that? You go after criminals. There's always going to be someone who is unhappy with you."  
  
"Let's just worry about this one," Sherlock murmured. "Can I come over?"  
  
"No," Molly replied firmly. "Well, you can, but I'm not going to be there. I'm going out."  
  
"I didn't think you were scheduled to work today," Sherlock said slowly. "But fine. I'll come in. Perhaps I will get a case out of it."  
  
"I'm going to a lecture." Molly locked the door to her flat behind her as she left. "And no, you can't come with. I would actually like to learn something. I don't want you to whisper how the lecturer is an idiot in my ear the whole time."  
  
"I don't do that," Sherlock said defensively.  
  
"You most certainly _do_ ," Molly insisted.  
  
"Well, then what am I supposed to do?" Sherlock whined.  
  
"I don't know!" Molly sighed exasperatedly. "Go play Cluedo with John."  
  
"I want a case," Sherlock's voice continued to have a childish demand to it.  
  
"A few minutes ago, you wanted to have sex," Molly pointed out.  
  
"But you're going away," Sherlock huffed. "If I can't be with you, then I want to work."  
  
Well, it seemed that theory was confirmed. Come to think of it, there were quite a few changes to Sherlock that-- if he were anyone but Sherlock-- Molly would immediately attribute to their separation. He'd put on a good fifteen pounds in the past months. Of course, Sherlock could use the extra fifteen pounds. He was also a lot more irritable about being idle.  
  
"Are you going to be all right?" Molly asked softly.  
  
Sherlock grunted. "What does it matter? You're swanning off who knows where to do who knows what..."  
  
"I'm going to a lecture!" Molly protested.  
  
"...And you're leaving me all alone to fend for myself," Sherlock continued unabated, his words becoming more rapid and anxious. "It's fine. It's perfectly fine."  
  
Molly could hear a rhythmic thumping. "Are you playing with your harpoon again?"  
  
"I'm going to go make John find me a case," Sherlock spat out impatiently.  
  
"All right," Molly replied gently. "If you're free when my lecture is done, maybe we can have some time together then."  
  
"I do hope any case I find will take me longer than three hours, Molly," Sherlock replied tersely.  
  
"Oh," Molly murmured.  
  
Sherlock went quiet for a moment. "But... When I am finished... I look forward to telling you an accurate version of the events before you read a highly colourful one on John's blog."  
  
"I look forward to it," Molly whispered. "Hey. I love you."  
  
"Yes, yes... Enjoy your lecture." With that, Sherlock unceremoniously hung up.  
  
"Well." Molly looked down at her phone now before slipping it into her jacket pocket. "That was rude."  
  


* * *

  
Molly had turned off her phone during the lecture. She didn't want to take the risk that Sherlock would call her in the middle of it, still bored and demanding her attention. He was really and truly like a child sometimes.  
  
Once she was out of the lecture hall, she turned her mobile back on and a message from Sherlock immediately came up. Of course. She hadn't quite been expecting the content however:  
  
 _Going to Devon for a few days with John._  
 _-S_  
  
Molly sighed softly. She had hoped he wouldn't find a case and she'd find him in her flat. Oh well. At least when he returned from his trip, he would be flushed with excitement from his case and most likely eager to give her affection.  
  
Molly smiled softly and returned the text quickly.  
  
 _Be careful. I love you. xx_  
  
Sherlock always found it ridiculous that she signed her texts with kisses, but he rationalized that as she shared the same initials as his brother, it at least made them easily identifiable without caller ID. She took that as the Sherlock way of saying he quite enjoyed it, but was too proper to admit so himself.  
  


* * *

  
Sherlock was not the only one who had delved into work since Molly had moved out of 221B. Of course, there was her work at the morgue. Molly was also working on a paper.  
  
She's been stockpiling research for a while. Being the only Pathologist Sherlock liked to work with (and the only Pathologist who liked to work with him) she was exposed to a myriad of ways for a person to die. It gave her plenty of fodder, but she'd lacked time when she'd still been living with Sherlock. Now, she needed things to distract her from being separated from her husband.  
  
Her current work was on snake venom and how it could present itself physically. Anyone who knew of her work with Sherlock would recognize the case as one John had already covered on his blog. But then, not many people seemed to realize the connection between her and Sherlock.  
  
Should it worry her? That so few people knew they were even friends, let alone married?  
  
The rational part of herself told her that it was for the best. It meant that she would be safe from Jim-- _Moriarty_.  
  
But there was that small voice inside her head, the one that was uncertain about her place in Sherlock's affections. The one that told her it made her easy to dismiss. That when it came down to it, she was just something extra. Someone that didn't really matter in the long run.  
  
She felt stupid for thinking it. She felt _horrible_ for thinking it. But she just couldn't shake it. Deep down, she would always wonder if she was good enough for Sherlock, if she really counted. Especially now that John was around. Sherlock and the army doctor had sparked just so instantly. It seemed like Sherlock might slip right through her fingers as he gravitated to John.  
  
As Molly worked, she thought about when she used to live at 221B, before John had moved in. When she would work on her laptop and eventually rest her head on the desk to take a few moments to herself. She would inevitably fall asleep. When she awoke, she would be on the sofa. Sherlock would be sitting on the floor next to her. When he noticed she was awake-- which was always very quickly-- he would turn his head and give her a light kiss on the cheek.  
  
No one expected Sherlock Holmes to be so caring. But he knew Molly's back was often sore from bending over cadavers. Of course, he could have just put her in their bed, but he often liked to talk to her while she was asleep and he was trying to work out a case. She was better company than Billy the Skull.  
  
But now, there was no Sherlock to lay her down if she fell asleep at her computer. If she drifted off, she would be at her desk for the rest of the night.  
  
Despite that thought, Molly rested her head against her arms and sighed deeply. Maybe once she woke up, she'd get back to work. With Sherlock not around, she wouldn't be distracted by sleepy kisses.  
  
Another sigh escape Molly's lips as she closed her eyes and gave herself over to thoughts of her husband.

* * *

  
Molly jerked awake at the sound of her phone ringing.  She rubbed a hand over her face and blearily reached for her mobile. Who would be calling her so late? It was rare she would get called into the hospital in the middle of the night.  
  
"Hello?" Molly answered, her voice rough from sleep.  
  
"Molly." It was Sherlock. For a brief moment, she felt herself brighten up at the sound of his voice. But as her mind cleared, she realized how that one word sounded. How he'd said her name so plaintively.  
  
"What's wrong?" Molly was immediately at attention. Sherlock calling at all was an extraordinary circumstance. And hearing him sound like that made it clear that something was terribly wrong.  
  
"I can't explain it," Sherlock murmured.  
  
Molly moved to her sofa, curling up and hugging her legs.  The tension in Sherlock's voice was plainly evident. She felt guilty that she was pleased that he'd chosen to call her rather than talk to John. Then again, maybe the problem was with John. "Just try to explain it, Sherlock. Take your time, Love."  
  
"No!" Sherlock snapped angrily. "I _can't_ explain it. That is the problem, Molly! There is no logical explanation for what I saw. But everything has a logical explanation. I can _always_ find the logical explanation."  
  
"Shhhh...." Molly hummed softly, soothingly. "Just tell me. Tell me everything."  
  
Sherlock took a deep breath and went into one of his rapid-fire avalanches of words. But unlike normal, it was not some stunningly accurate-- and usually embarrassing-- assessment of someone. It was recap of his day. He and John had gone to Devon to investigate the case of Henry Knight and his devil dog. Sherlock hadn't believed it, but when they'd gone out onto the moor, Sherlock had seen the dog Henry had described.  
  
Molly was silent until Sherlock had finished speaking. She listened to him panting for air, slightly winded from his long, verbose rant. She wanted nothing more than to take her husband in her arms, to card her fingers through his hair and help him calm down. She got the feeling that Sherlock wanted the same. That was why he had called her.  
  
"You saw something," Molly murmured. "Now the question is what exactly did you see."  
  
"Do stop being tiresome, Molly," Sherlock snapped irritably. "I know exactly what I saw. But I can't possible have seen it. Genetically modified devil dogs do not exist. But it was right in front of me. But--"  
  
" _Listen to me, Sherlock Holmes!_ " Molly yelled back at him. "You called me because you want to talk to me about what happened. Now this is me talking. You saw _something_. But you saw something you couldn't possibly have seen because it doesn't exist."  
  
"You're not helping, Molly!" Sherlock's voice was rising in pitch, the tension getting to him.  
  
"Yes I am!" Molly insisted. "You saw something you couldn't have seen. So what's the problem in that scenario? You. How did you see something that doesn't exist?"  
  
Sherlock went quiet. He was no longer breathing rapidly. He had calmed. He was thinking. "I was drugged."  
  
Molly hugged her legs tighter. She wanted to be there for Sherlock, wanted to help him through this. "Could you have been exposed at the base?"  
  
"Unlikely," Sherlock replied. "I wasn't injected with anything nor did I consume anything. If it were airborne it would affect the personnel." He went quiet once again. After a moment, there was a small. "Ah!"  
  
"Figured it out, did you?" Molly smiled. "My clever boy."  
  
"I need to go," Sherlock said quickly.  
  
"No!" Molly squealed. She knew that eager sound. "You can't go out right now, Sherlock. Whatever you've been affected by, it's still affecting you. Who knows what will happen to you if you go out now? Just stay safe for now. Let it work out of your system."  
  
"What am I supposed to do until then?" Sherlock demanded.  
  
"Sleep," Molly replied, almost laughing. He could be so silly sometimes.  
  
"How am I supposed to do that?"  
  
Of course, Sherlock rarely slept when he was on a case. He'd also admitted to having difficulties without Molly with him. Molly smiled at all of the implications of his question. "If you can't sleep, then at least take it easy until tomorrow morning. Lay down. If you've been drugged, you need to let the drugs pass."  
  
Sherlock sighed. "I don't need you to play doctor with me."  
  
"Shame. We're really good at that." Molly crinkled her nose. "If you didn't want your wife to play doctor, you shouldn't have married a doctor."  
  
"I need to find Louise Mortimer. Henry's therapist," Sherlock muttered.  
  
"Don't talk to her yourself," Molly insisted. "You're pretty wired right now. Get John to go see her."  
  
Sherlock groaned. "And what am I supposed to do if I can't go out and interview a lead?"  
  
"You'll lay down," Molly replied. "Even if you don't sleep. You're going to rest."  
  
"Dull."  
  
Molly sighed. "I'll talk to you while you rest."  
  
"Maybe that's a little less dull."  
  
Molly smiled. "Damn right. Now go find Henry's therapist and send John after her."

* * *

  
Aside from a short text the morning after Sherlock's incident, Molly hadn't heard from Sherlock in a day and a half. Despite his reassurance, she worried about his wellbeing. She always worried about him when he was out on a case. This time it was even worse, knowing what he'd been through already.  
  
Molly was having trouble concentrating on transcribing her notes. She knew she needed to keep focused, but it was difficult with her mind on other things.  
  
She got up from her desk to go get a bag of crisps. Maybe if she got some food in her, she'd be able to concentrate.  
  
Molly strode down the corridor to the vending machines. She frowned when she saw there were no more Quavers.  
  
"Dammit," Molly cursed softly.  
  
She heard a soft chuckle and a bag of the sought after crisps were held up in front of her. "Are you looking for these?"  
  
Molly whirled around to face her husband. "Sherlock!" She cried in ecstatic relief. She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him close. "I was so worried!"  
  
"I'm always okay," Sherlock assured her.  
  
Molly crinkled her nose. "Were you just waiting out here for me to come get a bag of crisps? Quite a lot of work just to say hello. You're _such_ a drama queen."  
  
Sherlock backed Molly up until she was pressed against the vending machine. "If you say so."  
  
"I do say--" Molly was cut off by Sherlock's mouth pressing insistently to hers. She mewled into his mouth, her fingers sinking into his curls as her mouth moulded to his.  
  
Molly relaxed in his arms, taking in his scent, his presence. He was back. He was safe.  
  
Sherlock pulled away far too quickly for Molly's taste. Of course, she would have been content to be in his arms for hours.  
  
Sherlock smirked down at her, clearly reading her expression. "John's been called off to Dublin. Problem with his former sister-in-law."  
  
"Mmm... What's your point?" Molly said, licking her kiss-swollen lips.  
  
"My point is come over." Sherlock's hands rested on her hips. "Welcome me home properly."  
  
Molly sighed. "You know, we're not hiding from John." She tilted her chin up so Sherlock could kiss her again briefly. "We're hiding from Moriarty. And he might still be watching."  
  
Sherlock scowled. He ran his thumb over her cheekbone. "Come dressed to do an experiment. Bring thumbs with you. He'll think you're assisting me on an all-night experiment if he's surveilling me. "  
  
"You think you're so clever," Molly crinkled her nose again.  
  
"I am so clever," Sherlock shot back. He pressed one last kiss to Molly's lips. "Don't forget the thumbs."  
  
Molly laughed as Sherlock pulled away. "You just want some thumbs to experiment on, don't you?"  
  
Sherlock shot her a cheeky smile. "Well, not _just_. See you tonight."

* * *

  
Sherlock's appetites were always heightened following a case, both for food and for Molly's affections. She came to 221B with the thumbs Sherlock had requested and some takeaway kebabs-- both carefully separated from each other. They eaten the takeaway on the sofa while Sherlock regaled Molly with the story of Henry Knight, the horrible hound, Bluebell the glow-in-the-dark rabbit and drugging John to test Sherlock's theory. Now that he was back in his right mind, the entire story was fascinating and exciting. Molly felt a twinge of regret that she was unable to share in these sorts of adventures with her husband, but she pushed it aside, enjoying just being with him once again.  
  
Once their appetites for food was sated, they retired to the bedroom and spent the night relearning each other's bodies. It had been far too long since they had been together. Sherlock was slow, almost methodical in his lovemaking, seemingly not wanting to miss a single spot that would make Molly moan.  
  
As they drifted off to sleep, Molly thought about how unsatisfying her life was of late. Living outside of 221B. Not being with Sherlock, not living together as man and wife. She never slept better than when she was in his arms.  
  
She awoke when she felt Sherlock slip out of her arms. She blinked and reached to the bedside table, slipping on her glasses. Sherlock was at his dresser, grabbing clothing.  
  
"What's going on?" Molly asked, stretching to work out the kinks in her back.  
  
"Case," Sherlock replied. He walked to the bed and kissed her gently. "Lestrade's texted me the details."  
  
"Oh." Molly nodded. "Of course. I understand." She tried to push down the disappointment threatening to bubble up.  
  
Sherlock turned to slide his pants on, his pale arse on display for Molly. "Shouldn't be more than few hours."  
  
Molly couldn't help herself, not with Sherlock bent over like that. She reached for him, giving his firm arse a good squeeze.  
  
Sherlock stood up quickly. Molly withdrew her hand. She looked up at him guilty as he whirled around to face her. Her eyes went wide. "Uh... Sorry?"  
  
"Whyever would you be sorry?" Sherlock asked, jumping back onto the bed and on top of Molly. She let out a squeal. "I quite enjoyed that."  
  
Molly wriggled beneath him. "You have a case, Sherlock."  
  
"I just got back from a case," Sherlock countered. "You do not need to be back at Barts for thirty-six hours. I should really take advantage of that." He leaned in and sucked on her throat. "Besides, this is a five. I shouldn't leave the flat for anything less than a seven."  
  
Molly was about to say something else, another counter argument, but she realize just before she opened her mouth that any argument was _for_ Sherlock leaving the bed-- and her. She was perfectly content staying with him for as long as he wanted to remain with her.  
  
Eventually, they rose just long enough to perform an experiment on the thumbs Molly had brought Sherlock from Barts. Sherlock was clad in his tartan dressing gown while Molly wore his grey t-shirt. If she donned one of his dressing gowns, her hands would have been covered and she'd be unable to work.  
  
Once the experiment was over and the thumbs were back in the refrigerator, Sherlock picked up some sandwiches from Speedy's and they ate before returning to bed.  
  
In some ways, it felt like their honeymoon all over. When they were first married and Lestrade was still unsure about bringing Sherlock in on cases, they'd spent days together in their flat, doing experiments and learning each other's bodies.  
  
But there was that voice in the back of Molly's head. The voice that told her they were clinging to something that was rapidly slipping away. That for as much as she loved Sherlock, romance put him in a false position. The past year and a half had been a blip, an aberration. She remembered Mycroft's needling words. That their relationship was nothing but a reaction to coming off drugs.  
  
As Sherlock pulled her into his arms, his breath warm against her neck, Molly tried to push the doubts from him mind. She didn't want to focus on such dark thoughts. Not while she was in Sherlock's arms. Not while she was where she belonged-- at least for now.

* * *

  
She didn't know when she had drifted off, but the next time Molly awoke it was to the sound John shouting. "Sherlock! I'm home!"  
  
Molly felt Sherlock's arm tighten around her waist and heard him grunt. He pressed a quick kiss to Molly's shoulder. "Stay right there."  
  
Snuggling deeply into the pillow, Molly felt Sherlock's weight rise from the bed and heard his bare feet against the floor and the door open. "You woke me."  
  
"JESUS SHERLOCK!" John yelped. "Can you at least put a sheet on?!"  
  
"I'm going back to bed. Leave me alone." The door closed again and Sherlock was soon back in bed with Molly.  
  
"We're going to have to get up eventually," Molly pointed out, turning to glance back at Sherlock. "I have work today."  
  
"Do you have work _yet_?" Sherlock queried.  
  
"Well..." Molly shook her head. "No..."  
  
Sherlock smiled tightly and tugged Molly tight against his bare chest. "Then we're fine. This is the first time we've been together in weeks, Molly. Allow me to indulge myself. Besides, I'm still tired."  
  
Molly couldn't disagree with Sherlock's reasoning. She happily closed her eyes and allowed herself to fall asleep once again.  
  
They were awoken to the sound of shouting about an hour later. "BOYS! YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE!"  
  
Sherlock grunted and nuzzled his nose against Molly's hair. "Client."  
  
Molly grabbed her glasses and focused on the clock. She was going to have to start getting ready for work soon anyway. "Well, if there's a body involved, I'll be in the morgue by one."  
  
"Good." Sherlock kissed her quickly before rising. He tugged the sheet away from the bed and wrapped it around himself like a toga. "You know I hate working with any other pathologist."  
  
Molly squeaked at the sheet was pulled away from her. She grabbed the comforter to cover herself while Sherlock gave her a bemused expression. She knew he was silently judging her for her modesty in front of her own husband. Molly blushed. "You have a dressing gown collection that can only be described as epic. Yet you are going out there wearing a sheet."  
  
Sherlock sighed. "Most likely, this case does not warrant getting dressed at all."  
  
Molly laid back on the bed while Sherlock strode out of the room, only covered by the thin sheet. She could hear him from the sitting room. "Tell us from the start. _Don't_ be boring."  
  
Oh, that was her man.

* * *

  
Molly had finally risen to begin dressing when Sherlock wandered back into the bedroom, the sheet still wrapped tightly around him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging at the belt of the dressing gown she'd donned. "Getting ready for work."  
  
"Mm." Molly nodded. "Need a shower."  
  
"I've sent John out to the crime scene. It's a six. The client is down at Speedy's having tea to calm himself and get out of my hair."  
  
"But not in that order," Molly quipped.  
  
Sherlock chuckled and pressed Molly closer. "I'd be happy to join you in the shower while I wait for something interesting to happen."  
  
Molly knew he didn't mean it as a slight against her, but his phrasing made it sound like she was only of use to him when he needed something to occupy his time. She gave a small nod. "All right."  
  
"Is something the matter?" Sherlock asked, his grip tightening slightly.  
  
Molly shook her head. "Of course not. Let's just get ready for the day. Lots to do. I get the feeling you're going to end up being busy."

* * *

  
Molly had left 221B just as Sherlock got the video chat request from John to survey the crime scene. She rolled her eyes as she saw Sherlock was still just garbed in the sheet when he picked up the computer. She supposed he'd eventually find clothes now that she was leaving the flat. At the very least, if the case took him outside of Baker Street he would dress.  
  
As predicted, there was a body and it did come into Barts. Molly did her post-mortem. Blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Strangely, Sherlock did not come into Barts to take a look at it. Usually, he never turned down the opportunity to look at a corpse when it was on her table. He seemed to enjoy at the very least viewing her handiwork. Did the case really lack so much importance?  
  
Molly pushed aside her uncertainty. Sherlock had been working fairly non-stop. If he was content remaining in 221B for a few days, then she wasn't going to raise a fuss about it. He deserved to have a good long break.  
  
After her shift was over, Molly left Barts and hailed a cab to take her to her flat. In the cab, she checked her phone and saw she had a new email message from Greg. It was not unusual to get messages from him in regards to cases he was working in which Molly has done the post-mortem, but this was a personal message. This included a video.  
  
It was of Sherlock. She could hear Lestrade chuckling in the background, but Molly found nothing humorous about it. Sherlock's cheek was bleeding from an injury and he was being half-carried by John. He was obviously drugged.  
  
"Go to 221 Baker Street!" Molly shouted to the cabbie.  
  
Molly threw some bills at the cabbie as soon as they came to a stop in front of Baker Street. She jumped out and raced up the stairs, her heart beating a furious tattoo inside her chest. What had happened to Sherlock? What could have changed so much in just the scant few hours they'd been separated?  
  
John rose from his seat when Molly burst through the door. She took gulps of air, trying to calm herself as she faced him. "What's happened to Sherlock?"  
  
John shook his head fractionally. "How do you--?"  
  
"Greg..." She panted. "He sent... What's going on?"  
  
John's forehead crinkled. "Just had some bumps in a case. Sherlock will be fine. Sleeping off the drugs in his bedroom." He sighed. "Going to have to cancel my date to make sure he's all right."  
  
"I can do it!" Molly blurted out much too quickly. She shrank down slightly, her cheeks feeling warm. "I mean, you really shouldn't cancel a date on account of Sherlock. You do that enough for him as is. I'm a doctor. I can look after him."  
  
John looked torn for a moment. For a moment, Molly considered blurting out that she was Sherlock's wife, that she could take care of him perfectly fine on her own. Thankfully, she was spared making this pronouncement when John nodded. "All right. He should be fine. Most of it is out of his system now. Just let him rest and make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit."  
  
Molly forced herself to smile weakly. "Sounds like a horrible job to give up a date for."  
  
"Pretty much," John sighed. "Thank you, Molly. Are you _sure_ you want to do this?"  
  
Molly shrugged. "Nowhere else I have to be tonight."  
  
With that, John smiled and nodded before grabbing his coat. "Just make yourself at home. I should be back in a few hours."  
  
"Not if it's a good date," Molly teased as John strode to the door.  
  
As soon as John was out of the room, Molly raced to the bedroom. She looked down at Sherlock, lying on his belly in bed, still clad in his day clothes. "Oh Sherlock. What have you done to yourself?"  
  
Sherlock groaned. "Woman..."  
  
Molly paused. "What was that?"  
  
"See her again," Sherlock's words were still slurred, only half-conscious.  
  
Molly shut the bedroom room. She caught the scent of expensive perfume. She quickly realized the source of the scent. It was clinging to Sherlock's Belstaff coat.  
  
How could a woman's scent permeated the fabric so much? How close had she been to him? Had anything stood in the way of her body and the coat?  
  
Molly sat on the edge of the bed and gently stroked Sherlock's hair. She then noticed the papers on the bedside table. She picked them up. They were screencaps from a website of a beautiful scantily clad woman. Molly's eyes widened as she read the tagline:  
  
 _Know when you are beaten._


	5. A Schism in Belgravia

Irene Adler.  
  
The name seemed to come to Sherlock's thoughts every other day since his interaction with the woman. That had been over three months ago.  
  
It disturbed him that the woman kept coming to his mind. That he recalled with perfect clarity the look in her cold blue eyes. As much as he'd been deducing her, she'd been deducing him.  
  
He couldn't stand the twisting in his stomach when he thought of her, the memory of her riding crop caressing his face as she taunted him.  
  
He guiltily pushed aside what had come unbidden to his mind when Molly had come over for a quick shag. How he had wanted Molly's fingernails to be long and blood red, to tug sharply at his curls rather than tenderly slide through them.  
  
It didn't help that the texts alerts continued to come in. Every few days, his phone would let out the now familiar moan.  
  
He knew he should change the alert. It was easy enough to do.  
  
But he didn't.  
  
He tried to tell himself it was the mystery of her. He wanted to know what else she had on that camera phone. Mycroft was obviously pursuing her for reasons other than photos of a royal _in flagrante_ and that in itself was enough to keep him interested. It was just the mystery. It was that and only that.  
  
There had only ever been Molly. He had never bothered with the trifles of the fairer sex before he and he hadn't been ashamed of his virginal status at the age of twenty-seven. He just had not thought about it. It didn't matter. It had always been about study for him. Then, it had been about the drugs. It had only been after Molly stirred something within him with her tender caretaking after his overdose and during his detox that he knew he wasn't immune to women.  
  
But it had only ever been _her_. He had only ever touched her, save for a few meaningless kisses given to women (and one man) while working undercover on cases. But it had only been Molly who it had meant anything with; who had stirred something deeper, urged him further.. That he had shown the true vulnerability of his desire.  
  
She had been a virgin too. They'd fumbled through loving making the first time. Once they had a taste for it, they took up the task of learning and experimenting with vigour.  
  
But it had only been _her_. She was the only one.  
  
Then came The Woman.  
  
It was an aberration. Sherlock was married. He loved Molly, even if the words stubbornly refused to leave his lips. He did everything he could to show what he could not say. He had sent Molly away from his side out of love, to protect her from Moriarty's wrath.  
  
And yet, it seemed that very act of loving protection was beginning to take its toll. Eight months they had been living apart now. Their second anniversary had come and gone with only a brief stolen kiss in the laboratory commemorating it.  
  
He ached for his wife.  
  
And yet, the Woman still came to mind. Idle thoughts of sweet kisses from thin, pink lips were replaced with images of bites and nips from pearly white teeth contrasting with ruby red lips.  
  
No, Sherlock refused to continue with those thoughts. He would not think about the Woman. He would push her out of his mind completely.  
  
He had made a commitment to Molly. He had sworn to her his fidelity.  
  
He was _not_ his father!  
  
He would forget her. Forget the Woman. Delete her completely as he'd done with so many other people before. She was Mycroft's problem now. He had been cut completely out of the case. There was no point in lingering on it any longer.  
  
He needed to do something special for Molly. He had, after all, missed their anniversary. He needed to do something to make up for it. He would buy her something. Something that would make her squeal and throw her arms around him, kissing him excitedly.  
  
It wouldn't be completely out of the blue. After all, Christmas was just around the corner.

* * *

  
Snow was falling steadily, slowly but surely blanketing Baker Street in a white cover. Sherlock's violin slid over the strings as he played _We Wish You a Merry Christmas_ for his captive audience. Mrs Hudson had insisted on Christmas drinks.  
  
Sherlock continued to glance at the clock. He was eager for everyone to leave so he could join Molly. He wanted-- _needed_ \-- to spend the holiday with her. With the Woman continually coming to his mind, he needed to reaffirm his connection to his wife.  
  
It was only because of their forced separation. After all, the original, full version of the saying was _Absence makes the heart grow fonder unless it makes the heart go yonder_. He was sublimating his yearning for his wife by thinking about another woman. That had to be it.  
  
Sherlock accepted the praise of his friends as he finished playing. He rolled his eyes when Mrs Hudson suggested he wear antlers. There actually were a pair at 221B. The year before, Molly had put them on the skull. Sherlock hadn't put them on this year. It hadn't felt right to do it himself. Rather, John had placed a Father Christmas hat on it. It was not the same.  
  
John's girlfriend offered him a tray of tarts. "Oh, no thank you, Sarah," he said with a tight smile. He would eat when he was with Molly. He imagined her picking up one of those tarts in her delicate fingers and holding it up for him to eat.  
  
He was taken out of the pleasant thought, dimly realizing Sarah looked offended. John was apologizing for him, saying he was not good at names.  
  
Oh. It wasn't Sarah.  
  
"No, no, I can get this. Sarah was the doctor, then there was the one with the spots, then the one with the nose and who was after the boring teacher?" He rattled off the litany of women John had been with. There had been others, but he'd deleted those ones entirely.  
  
The woman had crossed her arms. "Nobody."  
  
"Jeanette!" Sherlock said, smiling as he recalled her name. He knew it was in there somewhere. "Ah, process of elimination..."  
  
He then froze when he saw who was coming through the door. "Oh dear Lord..."  
  
She was early.  
  
Molly was coming through the door, a huge smile on her face. Her hair was pulled back and up, yet still hanging loose on her shoulders. She'd put a festive bow in her hair. She was greeting everyone cheerfully. Sherlock turned his head. He couldn't look at her right now.  
  
Why was she there so early?  
  
Why couldn't she have waited until the others had left?  
  
Could Sherlock kick everyone else out of the flat and enjoy Christmas with his wife?  
  
Everyone was greeting her happily and the odds of getting them to leave now were slim to nil. "Everyone's saying hello to each other, how _wonderful_ ," Sherlock groused, waving his bow around.  
  
He couldn't look at her. He couldn't look at her. That would make getting through this all the more difficult.  
  
When he was with Molly, he wanted to be _alone_ with Molly. He wanted to be able to express himself in ways that a crowd should not be witness to.  
  
It was not always about sex. Showing any affection for her was something that was just _for her_. He didn't need an audience for it. The idea repelled him. Yet he still ached for her.  
  
It had been so long.  
  
"Holy Mary!" John cried as he took Molly's coat. Sherlock carefully kept his eyes off of her. He didn't want to see what had gotten that reaction from John.  
  
"Wow!" Lestrade added.  
  
If it caused both John and Lestrade to have that reaction, what kind of reaction would it have on him?  
  
Instead, he focused his energies on his computer, on looking at John's blog. The others would assume he was just being taciturn Sherlock. Eventually, they would disperse. John would 'make sure Jeanette got home safely' and he would be left alone with Molly. He could appreciate the dress she'd worn that had gotten such a response from John. He would give Molly the present he'd picked out for her.  
  
He could feel her eyes on him even as Mrs Hudson spoke to her. He wanted to meet that gaze. She was there for his benefit. She missed him as keenly as he did her. But he could not waver. If he did, he would be lost.  
  
John's blog. That was what he needed to focus on. "John, the counter on your blog. It still says eight-hundred ninty-five."  
  
"No! Christmas is cancelled!"  
  
John's sarcastic response was noted, but not commented on. Sherlock was distracted by something else entirely. "You've got a photograph of me wearing _that_ hat."  
  
"People like the hat," John replied.  
  
"What people?" Sherlock wondered. He of course knew some of the people who liked that hat. Molly had shown him how she'd changed his Caller ID photo to one of him wearing the hat. She'd taken great delight in showing him, teasing him about it. Such a ridiculous joke.  
  
Of which Molly was making another in her conversation with Mrs Hudson.  
  
"I've seen much worse. But then I do post-mortems."  
  
Everyone went awkwardly quiet.  
  
"Oh-- God-- Sorry-- B--"  
  
Sherlock turned his head towards his wife. "Don't make jokes Molly."  
  
He was looking at her now. At the tight black dress. Her black bra was visible beneath the low cut spaghetti strapped number. Sherlock turned away to focus on the computer once again. He had felt the desire rise in him at the sight of her.  
  
She had worn it for him. She was intentionally enticing him in front of their associates-- and Jeanette.  
  
He wasn't the only one who was appreciating the dress. He knew it. He could hear it in Lestrade's voice, even as he spoke about the Christmas plans he had with his wife. How had he reacted when he'd first seen Molly in that dress? Sherlock cursed himself for not bearing to look at her. He had been unable to better catalogue the Detective Inspector's reaction. He was sure it had been one of abject lust.  
  
"No, she's sleeping with a PE teacher," Sherlock chimed in when Lestrade mentioned how he and his wife were back together. He was feeling a bit vindictive.  
  
"And John. I hear you’re off to your sister’s, is that right?" Molly continued speaking cheerfully with the others. Sherlock stared at the clock, trying to will it to a decent time for everyone to retire.  
  
"Sherlock was complaining."  
  
Sherlock looked at Molly. He had told her that in confidence, when they were alone together at her flat. Now she was parading it around in front of everyone.  
  
What he shared with his wife was no one's business but theirs.  
  
"...Saying," Molly said, looking down, clearly chastised by Sherlock's expression.  
  
John didn't seem to pick up on their non-verbal conversation. He raised his beer in a small toast. "First time ever, she’s cleaned up her act. She’s off the booze."  
  
"Nope!" Sherlock said smugly.  
  
"Shut up, Sherlock!" John demanded.  
  
But Sherlock had already moved on. If Molly was going to tease him in public, well, two could play that game. Besides, he wanted her to know how unhappy he was about this situation. About her dressing alluringly in public for his benefit, leaving him unable to do anything.  
  
Sherlock gave her a small smirk as he turned away from the laptop. "I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you’re _serious_ about him."  
  
"Sorry, what?" Molly shifted uncomfortably, obviously not understand why he would tease her in such a way. But if she was going to tease him with her dress, he was going to tease her right back.  
  
Sherlock continued to stare at his wife. He wanted her to know he knew _exactly_ what she was doing, that he knew she was trying to elicit a reaction from him. "In fact, you’re seeing him this very night and giving him a gift."  
  
Both John and Lestrade tried to dissuade him from his current line of deduction. But he wasn't going to let him. He couldn't. He could tease just as well as Molly could.  
  
"Oh, come on. Surely you’ve all seen the present at the top of the bag – perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best." He rose and adjusted his jacket. It was a present for him. He was the one Molly was here for. Not John. Not Lestrade. _He_ was the reason Molly was dressed like that.  
  
"It’s for someone special, then." His voice was smug as he looked at Molly. _For me_ , he told her with his eyes. _All for me. Not them_. "The shade of red echoes her lipstick–" He didn't much care for the red lipstick on her. He preferred her in softer, neutral tones. Besides, the shade reminded him uncomfortably of--  
  
 _No_. He was focused on Molly.  
  
"--either an unconscious association or one that she’s deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has lurrrve on her mind. The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact she’s giving him a gift at all."  
  
He had her present in the bedroom. He'd planned to give it to her tonight after everyone had gone. Had she planned to give this to him in front of everyone? Have him become vulnerable and needy for his bride in front of everyone close to him-- and Jeanette? He had love on his mind as well, but he knew well enough to keep it buried until the appropriate time. She was trying to force it out of him.  
  
"That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn," he couldn't help the small dig at the fact that any romance between them was a pipedream as long as the others were around. "And that she’s seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she’s wearing."  
  
That _dress_. That gorgeous, tantalizing dress. She'd worn it for him, to make him yearn for her even more than he already was. He smirked in satisfaction. "Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts..."  
  
He trailed off as he peered at the tag. Oh, he'd known his name would be there. Of course it would. That was not what gave him pause.  
  
He knew what was in the box.  
  
He could hear it ticking softly now. It was a pocket-watch. But not just any pocket-watch.  
  
Sherlock had seen it before. It had belonged to Molly's father and his father before him, going back generations in the Hooper family since the eighteen hundreds.  
  
It had been in a state of disrepair as long as Sherlock had been married to Molly. He had asked her why she didn't get it fixed. She had replied because she didn't have any reason to fix it. It felt odd for a woman to wear it. It was an heirloom for the men in her family.  
  
Now, she wanted him to have it. One of her most precious family heirlooms.  
  
The burden of his gifts of deduction made it all perfectly clear. It was more than just Molly passing on her father's most treasured possession to him, entrusting him with it. It was a sign-- even if it was subconscious-- that she was considering the future, that there would be a Hooper that would receive it in the future.  
  
Or the Holmes that would. He was sure she didn't realize it yet, but Molly was considering life with a child.  
  
"You always say such horrible things." Molly's voice was filled with pain, the softness of it plunging through him like a knife. "Every time."  
  
He had gone too far. In his efforts to sublimate his physical desire for his wife, to get back at her for sharing their private moments, he'd wounded her deeply, just as she had given him her most precious gift and the unknowing promise of an even greater one. Sherlock's mouth hung open as he went over everything he had said.  
  
"Always. Always." As he listened to her heartbreaking words, he couldn't look at her.  
  
No, he didn't want her to look at him. He was so ashamed of himself. He had humiliated her.  
  
But no, he couldn't just turn away. He couldn't pull away. This was his wife. He needed to comfort her. To let her know how much it-- _she_ \-- meant to him. "I am sorry. Forgive me."  
  
He knew the others were surprised. They had never heard him apologize to anyone before.  
  
But Molly was not _anyone_.  
  
He stepped closer to her. He looked into those big brown eyes. She was staring up at him, unshed tears making her eyes shine. He felt his heart begin to pound. He had never done anything like this before-- not in front of so many people-- but he had to. He had to show her how much he cared, how much he loved her. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."  
  
He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, just at the corner of her mouth.  
  
It would have been so easy to turn his head. To take her mouth fully. As he pulled away from her, he considered delving in for another kiss. To hell with propriety or whatever damnable experiment he was running on John. She was his _wife_ and he wanted to kiss away the pain that he'd just inflicted.  
  
He was distracted from this desire by the sound of his mobile releasing the orgasmic sigh alerting him to one of the Woman's texts.  
  
Molly gasped. "No! That wasn't... I – I didn't." Clearly she still feared them being discovered or at least believed he cared if their friends (and Jeanette) figured it out.  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No, it was me."  
  
"My God, really?!" Lestrade exclaimed. Oh, they were all so vacant, weren't they? Not able to see what was right in front of them.  
  
"What?" Molly gasped, eyes wide. She was dumbfounded by the idea that he was ready to go public with their relationship.  
  
"My phone," Sherlock clarified. He was starting to see the appeal of being open. He would be able to give Molly kisses like that whenever he wanted. But he was still uncertain. Could he really be everything she wanted him to be out in the open?  
  
No. For now, he would focus on the Woman. That was easier right now.

* * *

  
She was dead. Sherlock had known that the moment he received the phone. He had shut everyone out as soon as he received the news. Even when Molly hesitantly knocked on the door, he'd sent her away again.  
  
The Woman could match wits with him. The idea that she had been taken out of the world hit him hard.  
  
He knew he shouldn't care. He knew his wife was waiting for him. But the Woman-- the loss of her-- it was bringing out emotions in him he couldn't explain. Ones he hadn't been sure he'd possessed.  
  
He would have understood if it were Molly or John or Mrs Hudson. They were the ones closest to him. But he'd only met the Woman once. Why was she making him feel this way with her death?  
  
When he got the message from Mycroft to come to Barts, he knew he'd been correct.  
  
The knife dug deeper when he saw it was Molly that had been called in to take care of the body. Why did it have to be her? Why did Molly have to see him experiencing these sorts of emotions over another woman?  
  
Molly knew him. Molly knew him better than anyone else. There was no way she wouldn't know how he was affected.  
  
Mycroft knew this as well. Sherlock hated him for having the body brought to Barts. He knew Molly would be called in, would see him react to the body of the Woman. It was yet another chance to chip away at his marriage.  
  
He didn't want her there. He didn't want her to see him see _her_. Before she pulled down the sheet, Sherlock kept his eyes on Molly. How much had she already figured out?  
  
With the Woman's face destroyed, there was only one way to properly identify her. He had to ask to see the rest of her.  
  
He only had to look for a moment. It was her. Of course it was her. And he could see the expression on Molly's face. He strode out before she could ask, before the question that was in her mind spilled from her lips.  
  
He was sure she asked Mycroft. He wondered what his brother said to his bride to undermine their relationship.  
  
Did he leave Molly with the impression they had been having an affair? Or had he refused to answer, just leaving Molly with the poisonous thoughts that would corrode through her insecure mind?  
  
He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to assure her of his feelings for her.  
  
But at the same time... He wanted to be alone. He wanted to think about the Woman. How he felt the loss of her so keenly. He needed to sort through these feelings before he talked to Molly. He had already hurt her that night. He didn't want to inadvertently hurt her once again.  
  
When Mycroft came to him in the corridor, Sherlock only hesitated a moment in taking the cigarette. There was too much. His mind was a jumble. It was a problem patches wouldn't be able to take care of. He needed the acrid smoke to fill his lungs. It was the only thing that would stop the tumultuous emotions from breaking through his cool veneer.  
  
When he looked at the family mourning the loss of their loved one, Sherlock thought again of Molly in the morgue. He should have been able to share his feelings with her. She was more his family than the man standing with him. She should have been able to comfort him. With any other death, she would have. But not this one. "Look at them. They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there’s something wrong with us?"  
  
Sherlock knew the answer to it before he even asked the question.  There was something most definitely wrong with them. Something so incredibly different from everyone else in the world.  
  
A normal man could share the loss of a peer with his wife.  
  
Then, a normal man didn't hide his wife from the world.  
  
A normal man didn't have such conflicted feelings about his 'peer'.  
  
He blamed his father for those feelings.  
  
"All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."  
  
Sherlock knew Mycroft was not referring to caring for the Woman. In fact, Mycroft seemed to get a perverse pleasure out of Sherlock's interest. No, it was Sherlock's caring for Molly that was the disadvantage.  
  
It was _that_ caring that would bring him to ruin.  
  
"This is low tar." It was the only thing Sherlock could say. He had no other response to Mycroft about either woman.  
  
"Well, you barely knew her." Mycroft said airily.  
  
Sherlock let out a small grunt. He was now utterly unsure which Mycroft was referring to. He had only met the Woman the once... But it was never below Mycroft to poke at the fact Sherlock had married Molly only a week into their relationship.  
  
He strode away, not bothering to inquire any deeper into his brother's thoughts about either the Woman or Molly. It didn't matter. No one else's thoughts mattered. He just needed to be alone with his own feelings. "Merry Christmas, Mycroft."  
  
"And a happy New Year."

* * *

  
When Sherlock got outside, he already found Molly on the pavement, bundled up in her coat. "Molly?" he said softly, looking around. "I didn't see you--"  
  
Molly kept her gaze down. "I went out the other way. I didn't want to interrupt you and Mycroft."  
  
Sherlock reached a gloved hand out and touched it to Molly's shoulder. He needed to do something. He needed to say something-- anything. He couldn't just leave things as they were. As much as he wanted to be alone, he didn't want to leave _Molly_ alone. "Whatever you're thinking..."  
  
Molly turned to him, looking up. "I'm thinking she's a dominatrix. A really very pretty one. She's the woman you had the pictures of, isn't she?"  
  
Sherlock opened his mouth to speak. He didn't know Molly had seen those. When had Molly seen those?  
  
"The night you were drugged," Molly reminded him. "I took care of you after John left."  
  
Sherlock took a step back. He didn't remember that. When he had awoken in the morning, he had been alone. John had come in a few moments later with a cup of tea.  
  
Which was something _Molly_ would have asked him to do after she had to go to work.  
  
"I don't remember you being there," Sherlock murmured.  
  
"I was!" Molly cried. She furiously dashed the tears away from her eyes. "You kept mumbling The Woman... The Woman..." She bit her lower lip. "You had lipstick on your face."  
  
Sherlock shook his head. "Molly..."  
  
"And now..." Molly sniffled. "That woman is in my morgue and you're able to recognize her from not her face!"  
  
Sherlock gripped Molly's shoulders tightly. "Whatever you are thinking..."  
  
The tears on Molly's face were glistening. "Is there any reason I _shouldn't_ be thinking it?"  
  
"I am married to you," Sherlock said evenly. His fingers gripped her tightly.  
  
"The last time I checked, you earned a lot of money from people because they thought vows don't matter." She pulled away from him, flagging a cab. "And _she_ didn't have to make up for the size of her mouth and breasts."  
  
"Molly..." Sherlock didn't know what he was supposed to say. He watched helplessly as Molly got into the cab that had pulled up.  
  
"Have a Merry Christmas, Sherlock," Molly muttered. "I'm sorry for your loss."  
  
With that, she slammed the door. Sherlock raked his fingers through his hair as he watched her pull away.

* * *

  
He knew John had gone through his things. Mycroft must have warned him it was a 'danger night'.  
  
How many times had Mycroft believed he would give into the temptation of drugs? There had always been one thing stopping him.  
  
Molly would pull him into his arms and hold him to her chest. He would listen to the rhythmic sound of her heart beating. He would be lulled by the sound of her very life.  
  
Molly was his tether. He would never-- could never-- give into drugs again. He had fallen in love with her when she helped wean him off drugs. He wouldn't sacrifice that.  
  
Maybe tonight was a danger night. She clearly had no use for him now. She was feeling betrayed.  
  
And she had every right to. He had thought about the Woman too much. He had thought about her when they had been together. He had betrayed Molly, even if it had not been physically.  
  
The Woman was dead. Yet her spectre still loomed over his relationship. He didn't know how he would fix this. If he even could.  
  
The Woman was dead.  
  
As clever as she was, she hadn't been able to survive.  
  
He felt the stirrings deep in his gut. The pull. If he gave in, it would be heroin. Not his favourite, but it was what the night would call for should he indulge. It would shut off his mind. Allow him to drift into a numb euphoria.  
  
Then none of it would matter. Molly. The Woman. Moriarty... It would all go away, if only for a few hours.  
  
No. Sherlock would not give in. He refused. He had too much to lose if he gave in to the temptation.  
  
Molly would be gone for good. John would go. Mrs Hudson would kick him out. Lestrade wouldn't bring him any more cases.  
  
He couldn't.  
  
He just _couldn't_.  
  
"Hope you didn’t mess up my sock index this time," Sherlock mumbled to John as he strode to his bedroom.  
  
He slammed the door shut behind him. He picked up the present wrapped in red paper sitting on the bed. The present from Molly. He hadn't the chance to open it up before he'd gotten the text from the Woman.  
  
Methodically, carefully, without tearing the wrapping, he uncovered it. His hand trembled slightly as he took the pocketwatch out.  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes and bowed his head and pressed the watch to his cheek. The steady ticking began to lull him.  
  
He would not sleep. He could not sleep. But maybe at the very least, he could rest.

* * *

  
The Woman was alive.  
  
Only six days after her supposed death, Sherlock spied her conversing with John.  
  
Clever woman. Clever, clever woman. He should have known death would not come easily to her.  
  
As impressed as he was with her ingenuity, he felt anger at her manipulations. She'd played with his emotions. It had done severe damage to his relationship with Molly.  
  
Molly. Molly who had refused to talk to him since Christmas. Who thought he had betrayed his marital vows with the Woman.  
  
He had taken his frustrations out on the men who had assaulted Mrs Hudson. Oh, even without his bad mood he would have severely beaten someone for laying a hand on his landlady, but it did make him feel a hell of a lot better.  
  
When John asked him how he felt about the Woman still being alive, he responded only with a greeting of the new year.  
  
Whatever he felt about the Woman needed to be put aside. It was Molly that mattered now. Repairing the damage in their relationship. Letting her know how much he cared for her.  
  
After John left to get a pint down the pub with Stamford, Sherlock set aside his violin, put on his coat and scarf and took off. He knew he would not be able to get a cab. He would have to walk all the way to Molly's flat.  
  
She would be there. _Of course_ she would be there. He was the only person she would spend Christmas or New Year with.  
  
By the time he arrived at Molly's flat, his dark curls were dusted with snow. He didn't bother knock, rather he used his key. He needed to see her. He needed to be with her.  
  
Molly looked up from her spot on the sofa. She was dressed comfortably in her oversized sweatshirt from uni and her glasses. Her hair was down, swept over one shoulder. She cocked her head slightly at Sherlock. "What are you doing here?" She asked with a small sigh.  
  
Sherlock reached into the pocket of his coat. He took out a wrapped package. "I hadn't the chance to give you your Christmas present."  
  
Molly took the present from him. She didn't say a word. She just unwrapped it slowly. She frowned slightly as she looked down at the cover of the antique book. " _Metamorphoses_ by Ovid."  
  
Sherlock knelt down beside her. "Book four. It has the myth of Pryamus and Thisbe. Do you know about them?"  
  
Molly nodded. "Of course I do. Even if I didn't know myth, I know Shakespeare. Star-crossed lovers who speak to each other through a hole in a wall. Killed themselves over a stupid misunderstanding."  
  
"I had hoped you would not focus on that part," Sherlock sighed. He took a hold of Molly's hand. "I got this for you so that you know that whatever separates us, it doesn't change how I feel about you."  
  
Molly pulled her hand away. "But we don't need anything to separate us, Sherlock." She stood up. "If we're star-crossed, it's because _you_ crossed us!"  
  
"I'm trying to keep you _safe_ ," Sherlock insisted, remaining in his kneeling position on the floor.  
  
"We were married for a year and a half before Moriarty!" Molly cried. She shook her head, the tears already glistening in her eyes. "There was _always_ a reason not tell anyone about us."  
  
"It's nobody's business but ours!" Sherlock shouted. "Why should anyone know?"  
  
"Because I'm not your dirty little secret!" Molly sobbed, the tears finally falling down her cheeks. "Discretion is one thing, but you go out of your way not to let anyone know! I'm your _wife_."  
  
Sherlock pulled himself to his feet. He cupped Molly's face in his still gloved hands. He pressed his forehead to hers. "I didn't want to share you. I wanted you to be mine and mine alone."  
  
Molly continued to cry. "But I have to share you, Sherlock. With everyone. With the police, with John..." She took a trembling breath. "With that woman."  
  
"Nothing happened Molly." Sherlock could hear the pleading in his voice and it sickened him to show such weakness. But he couldn't help it. He needed Molly to understand. "She was trying to throw me off guard. When I met her, she came out naked. She wanted to shock me. That is how I recognized her. As it is, I didn't even do that much." He stroked his hand over her hair. "I did not pay that close attention."  
  
Molly peered up at him through tearful eyes. "Huh?"  
  
"She's alive, Molly," Sherlock replied. "I found out today. She faked her death. The body I identified... It wasn't her."  
  
Molly pulled away from him. She wiped the tears from her eyes. "She's still alive."  
  
Sherlock nodded. "Yes. She's on the run from--"  
  
"I don't _care_!" Molly cried. She continued to dash away her tears. "What I care about is the fact that my husband is preoccupied with her!"  
  
"I am not--" Sherlock started.  
  
Molly shook her head again, slowly, sadly. "Do you think I'm stupid, Sherlock? Do you really think I don't know you've been thinking about her?"  
  
Of course Molly would know. Molly always knew. Sherlock closed his eyes and took a breath. "I--" He took another breath. He needed to keep himself steady. "I made a promise to you." He couldn't stop the trembling of his voice. "I swore I would be faithful to you. And I have been."  
  
Molly looked down. "You didn't know what you were promising. You were just coming off drugs. You had never been with anyone before."  
  
"You sound like Mycroft," Sherlock growl. His hands were starting to shake now.

"Maybe he has a point."  
  
Sherlock's eyes snapped open. He cocked his head, staring at Molly in shock. "Are you leaving me?"  
  
"It's not like I have far to go," Molly murmured. "We haven't lived together in over half a year."  
  
Sherlock shook his head. "We've still... Even if we don't live together... What are you suggesting?" He could feel a prickling in his eyes.  
  
Molly sniffled. She wasn't able to look at Sherlock directly. "I'm saying... If you feel something for this woman... I'm not going to hold you back." She bit her lip. "I'm not suggesting we get a..." She shook her head. "I'm just... For now, we shouldn't be... We need time. You need time. To sort things out. And I'll be waiting, whatever you decide."  
  
Sherlock took a step toward Molly. He cupped a hand to her face, dashing away her tears with his thumb. He wanted to tell her that he knew exactly how he felt. That he wanted to be with her no matter what.  
  
But he stopped himself just short. It wasn't the honest truth. She was right.  
  
"I'll be there if you need me," Molly whispered. Her hands clutched the lapels of his coat. "At the morgue. Anytime at all. I'm still your pathologist."  
  
"But not as my wife," Sherlock murmured thickly.  
  
"I'm still your wife," Molly replied. She sighed, shutting her eyes. "We're just... On a break."  
  
Sherlock glanced to the clock. It was eleven-fifty. "Can I at least spend the rest of the year with my wife?"  
  
Molly gave a brief nod.  
  
Sherlock enfolded Molly in his arms, crushing her to his chest. She let out another small cry. He could feel the dampness of her tears soaking into his shirt.  
  
A few tears slipped down Sherlock's own cheeks. "Happy New Year, Molly."  
  
"Happy New Year, Sherlock."

* * *

  
With Molly declaring them separated, Sherlock did his best to stay away from Barts. However, after a few days of experimenting on the Woman's phone, he needed the hospital's equipment to be able to properly examine it.  
  
He had come into the lab and had the phone under X-Ray. He could see four small dark circles. What were those?  
  
Molly was close by. It was impossible for him to come into the lab without her helping out. It was a compulsion for him. He needed Molly by his side when he worked.  
  
"Is that a phone?" Molly asked.  
  
"It's a camera phone," Sherlock replied tersely. What had the Woman done to her phone?  
  
"And you're X-raying it?" Molly continued to question. Normally, he wouldn't mind her questions.  
  
But Sherlock had no idea what the state of their relationship was. He was irritated by the uncertainty. "Yes, I am."  
  
"Whose phone is it?" Molly continued her questions. Why couldn't she just stop? Why couldn't things just be _normal_ between them?  
  
"A woman's." He knew she would know. It was not _a_ woman's. It was _THE_ Woman's.  
  
"Your girlfriend?" Right away. She had it right away, knew exactly who it belonged to. And she was still insistently sticking to the idea that he had feelings for the Woman.  
  
Despite his inability to prove her wrong, he was going to show his irritation at the implication. He couldn't hide it in his voice. "You think she's my girlfriend because I’m X-raying her possessions?"  
  
Molly let out a nervous twitter of a laugh. "Well, we all do silly things."  
  
"Yes." As far as Sherlock was concerned, the only silly people were women. Women who... Wait. He turned to her. "They _do_ , don't they?" He got up from his seat and retrieved the phone from the X-Ray. " _Very_ silly." He woke up the phone and saw the lock screen. He typed in _221B_ "She sent this to my address, and she loves to play games."  
  
"She does?" Molly asked.  
  
The message came up, informing him of his incorrect attempt and that only two remained. Sherlock scowled and sat back down, working at the computer to discover what exactly the Woman had done to the infernal thing.  
  
He didn't want to look at Molly. He heard the panic in her voice when she asked him to confirm that the Woman liked to play games.  
  
She was terrified. Even if it had been she who insisted that Sherlock explore his feelings, she didn't want him to give in.  
  
"I don't know how to act around you," Sherlock murmured.  
  
"Sorry?" He wasn't looking at her, but Sherlock knew Molly was worrying her lower lip.  
  
"You were unclear in the guidelines as to our new dynamic. You are my pathologist now and you are still my wife. You told me to do what I must in regards to _her_ \--" He finally turned to Molly. "But you don't want me to."  
  
"I want..." Molly paused, considering what she was going to say. "I want what's best for us. Even if that means not being together."  
  
Sherlock stood up. He walked to Molly, looming over her. She looked so small. Almost scared of him. "And in the meantime? Until whatever decision is made... What do we do?"  
  
Molly shook her head in confusion. "What do you--"  
  
Sherlock snaked his arms around her waist, tugging her to him. He swooped in, giving her a desperate, needy kiss. He heard her muffled mewl, her fingers instinctively burying in his curls. He nipped and sucked at her mouth until her lips parted for him.  She continued to make soft whimpers as they kissed. He pulled away when he taste the salt of her tears on his lips. He looked at her, face stained with those tears, lips swollen from their encounter.  
  
"That..." Molly pressed her forehead to Sherlock's, trying to catch her breath. "That might have been a bit much."  
  
Sherlock was similarly trying to catch his breath. He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment. "This is very new to me. I'm not sure I like the idea of not being able to kiss my wife."  
  
"You need time," Molly insisted. "Time to sort yourself. And you're not going to be able to do that if you're thinking about me."  
  
Sherlock sighed. "This isn't just about me, is it?"  
  
Molly pulled away, looking away from him.  
  
"You need time too, don't you?"  
  
Molly nodded. "Yeah. I just... Things haven't been right for us for a while now. We need a break. To sort out our priorities. Both of us."  
  
"How are we supposed to do that separately?" Sherlock demanded. "We're partners."  
  
"Because we haven't done anything together for ages now," Molly sighed. "And if we're going to be us... We're going to be _us_. This isn't just about that woman. If we're going to be together, we're going to be _be together_. Openly. Honestly."  
  
Sherlock nodded slowly. He knew it would happen. The day would come when he would have to openly declare Molly as his wife.  
  
He wasn't ashamed of her. He just never cared for anyone knowing his private life.  
  
John had been the turning point. When it had all changed. He hadn't told John at first for the same reason he didn't tell the world. It was none of his business.  
  
But the closer they had gotten, the more John needed to know and the harder it became for Sherlock. John would feel betrayed that Sherlock had kept it a secret for so long.  
  
Sherlock let out a breath. "Molly, do you still--" He couldn't say the words.  
  
But Molly knew. She always knew. She nodded. "I always will. It's just a matter of whether or not that's enough." She turned towards the door. "And whether you do too."  
  
Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but Molly was already out the door.

* * *

  
Over the next few months, Sherlock's interactions with Molly were limited. They worked on experiments together. Sometimes if he was restless he would call or text with her until he finally managed to drop off to sleep. They allowed themselves chaste affection: she would allow him to give her a kiss on the cheek when he left the morgue occasionally.  
  
She shocked him on his birthday by dragging him into the supply cupboard, sinking down and giving him a _very_ welcomed present. He had been throwing himself into his work and trying not to focus on the loss of physical intimacy. While he greatly appreciated the gift, it had reawakened the hunger in him that he had been suppressing.  
  
Thankfully, Molly had been responsive when less than two months after, he'd pulled her into the same supply cupboard to return the favour on her own birthday.  
  
He'd been considering going over to Molly's. Surely they could find some obscure holiday to "exchange gifts". They had missed Valentine's Day. There was always St Patrick's...  
  
And then _she'd_ shown up. Sleeping in his bed. The woman.  
  
He tried to focus on the mystery. Not on the woman. He kept on being painfully reminded of Molly, as John mentioned her in relations to bringing the camera phone to 221B-- Sherlock was thankful he had the phone on him and it was not required to go that route.  
  
Then, in the midst of verbally sparring with the Woman, John mentioned potential baby names.  
  
It reminded him of the pocketwatch he had carefully placed in his desk drawer. He couldn't bear to carry it with him, but he looked at it every day, made sure it was wound and never stopped ticking.  
  
He felt her lips on his cheek. Even as he worked out the problem, a part of his mind retained the feeling of the warm, soft lips against his skin.  
  
The woman was clever and beautiful. She was more than a match for him.  
  
He solved her mystery. He knew what the file that she was risking her life was. She could go on her way if she wanted. Yet she was still there. She was dressed in his dressing gown, something that was such a signature of Molly.  
  
His wife. His Molly.  
  
Yet he couldn't deny how attractive she looked. How the blood had rushed his nether region when the Woman had said she would have him begging for mercy twice on his desk.  
  
When he came out of his reverie, he realized he was still with the Woman.  
  
And they were now alone.  
  
They shared idle talk about the plan of Bond Air. Sherlock was rambling. Trying to ignore the fact that he was alone in the room with the woman wearing nothing but his dressing gown. Then, she asked the question.  
  
"Have you ever had anyone?"  
  
"Sorry?" Sherlock was surprised but her forwardness.  
  
No, he shouldn't have been surprised. Sex was so easy for her.  
  
"And when I say “had”, I’m being indelicate," the Woman continued.  
  
"I don't understand." He did understand. But he wasn't about to tell the Woman the truth. How he had _had_ Molly in that very chair she was sitting in and just about every other flat surface in the flat. How his body ached for the touch of his wife once again.  
  
And yet still he felt similar stirrings for the woman in front of him.  
  
"Well, I’ll be delicate then." The Woman rose and knelt in front of Sherlock. He took a breath, the image of Molly on her knees in front of him coming to his mind.  
  
But Molly wasn't here.  
  
The Woman was.  
  
She placed her hand on top of his and Sherlock felt the warmth of her skin against him, even warmer than the flames of the fire not far away from him.  
  
"Let’s have dinner." Everything about the Woman's expression was that of invitation to him.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Might be hungry."  
  
"I’m not." He was famished. He had only brief tastes in the past months. Bits to whet the appetite, but nowhere near sate it. Just enough of a tease to make him ravenous for the full meal.  
  
"Good."  
  
Sherlock leaned in and curled his fingers around the Woman's wrist. He stroked the soft skin, feeling the rapid thrum of her heartbeat. Her pupils were dilated.  
  
She wanted him. Her body spoke of her desire for him.  
  
"W-Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn’t hungry?" Sherlock was leaning closer. She leaned in as well, focused on his lips.  
  
If she kissed him, he would be lost. Desire and fear rose within him, coiled together in a maddening metaphoric death match.  
  
He wanted her to kiss him.  
  
But if she did, it wouldn't be just a kiss.  
  
He could never touch Molly again. He wouldn't be able to; he wouldn't allow himself to sully her with unfaithful hands.  
  
"Oh, Mr Holmes..." The Woman's voice was a beckoning purr. "...If it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?"  
  
"Sherlock!"  
  
The Woman sighed. "Too late."  
  
Sherlock glanced to the side. "That’s not the end of the world; that’s Mrs Hudson."  
  
But he was grateful for the intervention of his landlady. For now, the decision of his relationship with the Woman was out of his hands.

* * *

  
The rest of the night past in a blur of activity. The flight of the dead that would never take flight. The reveal of the Woman's betrayal and her association with Moriarty.  
  
As he sat in Mycroft's office and listened to Mycroft bargaining with her, he thought about many things.  
  
How the Woman had used him. How she had humiliated him and continued to degrade him.  
  
He thought about Molly. How patient and loving she was. How she gave him so much and he selfishly took it without giving in return.  
  
How he'd been felled not by someone smarter than him, but by his own desires blinding him.  
  
Desire blinding. That was the Woman's own downfall. She had truly been attracted to him. Even before they had met. Brainy is the new sexy. To her, he was the sexiest thing around.  
  
His name. The passcode.  
  
Sentiment was a chemical defect found in the losing side.  
  
The Woman lost because... He had lost a long time ago.  
  
Molly. Beautiful, loving Molly.  
  
She was not as much a match for him as the Woman was, but Sherlock didn't _want_ a match. He didn't _want_ an equal.  
  
He was selfish, manipulative and broken. Why would he want to be with someone with those same traits?  
  
He wanted someone who made him _better_.  
  
He wanted Molly.  
  
When the Woman pleaded with him that she wouldn't even last six months, there was only one thing he could reply.  
  
"Sorry about dinner."

* * *

  
The moment he was out of sight of Mycroft and the Woman, Sherlock had broken into a run. He grabbed the first cab he could, barking orders at the cabbie for the fastest directions to Molly's flat.  
  
He was out of breath by the time he burst through her door.  
  
She jumped to her feet, surprised by his entrance.  
  
Sherlock stared at Molly, eyes wide, chest heaving.  
  
She just stared back at him, her doe eyes wide and almost heart-breaking to look into.  
  
But Sherlock wouldn't look away. He wouldn't flinch. He had been fighting against his loss for too long now.  
  
It was time to concede defeat.  
  
"I love you," Sherlock rasped. He took shaking steps towards Molly. "I know I've never said it. I've never been able to get the words out. But I do. I love you, Molly Hooper. I never thought I could love at all." He cradled her face. "And then you came into my life and... Not only can I love, but I can love so much that it _hurts_."  
  
Molly's arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to her. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent.  
  
He was back where he belonged.

* * *

  
Despite his thoughts that he did not care about the Woman any longer, he kept an eye on her while she was on the run. He heard about her passage into Karachi. Knowing the fate that awaited her there, he excused himself on a case to rescue her.  
  
Even as he did it, he wondered why he was saving her. Why he was willing to kill to save her life.  
  
She was his equal, his match. The idea of a person like that being taken out of the world was something wholly depressing. There were so few extraordinary people like that.  
  
When they'd absconded to his hotel, he handed her an envelope. "Travel documents, ID... Everything you'll need to start a new life for yourself." Sherlock gave her a tight smile. "I hear New Jersey is nice."  
  
"I never thought I'd see you again," the Woman said as she thumbed through the documents. "And such a dynamic entrance. Really makes a girl's heart go pitter-patter."  
  
She held out her wrist to him. "Want to check?"  
  
Sherlock turned himself away from her. "I don't think that's wise."  
  
"Oh come on now," the Woman purred, slinking closer to him. "We have time now. I doubt your landlady will call on you."  
  
Sherlock shook his head. "You have everything you need. You have no use for me any longer."  
  
"I have a lot of uses for you."  
  
He couldn't deny he was still attracted to her. He probably always would be. But it was hollow. The physical-- it was just transport.  
  
What he had with Molly transcended that. He started towards the door. "Good-bye, Ms Adler."  
  
"What's her name?"  
  
Sherlock went still. He didn't turn to face the Woman. "What do you mean?"  
  
The Woman sighed. "I can't believe I didn't see it before. You hide it well." She let out another sigh. "What is your wife's name, Mister Holmes?"  
  
Sherlock turned slowly to look at the Woman. "How did you know?"  
  
The Woman had a rueful smile on her face. "I've seen that look on many a man's face before. The married men who come to partake in my services..." She crossed her arms over her chest. "What's her name?"  
  
Sherlock's tongue darted out, wetting his lips. "Molly."  
  
The Woman's brow knit. "Not Molly Hooper?"  
  
Panic flooded Sherlock for a moment. "H-How did you--"  
  
The Woman waved a hand dismissively. "You fake your death, you look over the post-mortem results to make sure everything is the way you need it to be. She does good work."  
  
"The best," Sherlock replied.  
  
The Woman's lips curved in a wider smile. "How long have you been married?"  
  
Sherlock paused. The more the Woman knew, the more Molly was in danger.  
  
"Dead women tell no tales, Mister Holmes," the Woman stepped towards him. "There's nothing I could tell Moriarty. Besides, I hear he's not even available right now. Disappeared. So how long have you been married?"  
  
"Two years," Sherlock finally answered. "Nearing two and a half."  
  
The Woman nodded slowly. "And those two and a half years... They haven't been entirely happy, have they?"  
  
Sherlock narrowed his gaze on her. "There have been--" He took a step back from her. "--Complications."  
  
The Woman bridged the gap between herself and Sherlock. She patted him on the chest. "Well. Since you saved my life and won't let me pay you back with dinner... I will give you some advice: It's not the losing side if you're both on the same one."  
  
The Woman got up on tip-toes, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's cheek. "Good-bye, Mister Holmes," she whispered. "And this time I mean it."

* * *

  
When John showed him the phone belonging to the Woman, he knew they had been successful.  
  
He wasn't quite sure himself why he had asked for her phone. He could have come up with a dozen reasons and they all would have been truthful.  
  
But in the end, he wanted a memento. Of the woman who beat him. Who tempted him. Who made him realize where he belonged.  
  
He chuckled as he twiddled with the phone before sliding it into his desk. "The Woman."  
  
He looked at the pocketwatch that now lay next to the phone. " _The_ Woman," he sighed.  
  
He turned to go out. Molly would just be getting off work.  
  
Before he left, he grabbed the pocketwatch from the desk.


	6. The Reichenbach Foil

Sherlock's declaration of love was a landmark for the Hooper-Holmes marriage. There was no doubt about that. While Molly had always told herself that Sherlock loved her, in her insecure moments she became uncertain. None more so than during the incident with the Adler woman.

As much as it meant to her to finally hear the words she had been longing to hear, there was still healing needed. They couldn't just jump right back into being married as if nothing had happened. Besides, there was still the issue of telling John and the Jim Moriarty situation to contend with. 

Even though it was decided that would be best for Molly to remain in her flat for now, Sherlock came over with greater frequency. His caseload was busy, but he found time to spend with Molly. They were, in essence, dating. It was lovely. They continued the habit of staving off physical intimacy until holidays came around. However, Sherlock had managed to find a list of very obscure holidays on the internet. They had even celebrated Bunsen Burner Day in a most creative manner.

As Sherlock's notoriety grew, they became more careful about their relationship. While Molly was eager for it to be public, she would have rather they just told their friends before it appeared in _The Sun_.

Molly stepped out the shower after a long day of work, donning Sherlock's best dressing gown. She had kept it in her closet during their separation, but she had not been able to bring herself to wear it. But now that they were beginning to repair their marriage, she was able to enjoy the feel of the soft silk against her clean skin without the horrible feeling of unrest. 

She was just tying the belt as she stepped into her bedroom. She looked up and noticed the man stretched out on her bed. She smiled softly. He'd only managed to remove his jacket and shoes before he'd dozed off.

Molly settled down on the edge of the bed and gently stroked his hair. "If it isn't the Reichenbach Hero."

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open. He hummed happily at the sight of her. "Mm. Should have joined you in the shower."

Molly crinkled her nose and curled up beside him. She nuzzled her nose against his chest. "I don't know. You look pretty knackered." She sighed. "Besides, what holiday would we be celebrating?"

"I'm a hero," Sherlock replied. He waved his hand vaguely. "Haven't you seen the papers? You don't want to give me a hero's welcome?" 

"Where does John think you've gone?" Molly asked. She relaxed as Sherlock slipped a hand around her, running his fingers up and down her back soothingly. 

"Didn't bother giving him an excuse." Sherlock turned his head and kissed Molly on the forehead. "He didn't ask." 

He kept his lips pressed to her forehead. "I should tell him. I should just... Tell him."

Molly clutched at Sherlock's shirt. "Really? You want to?"

"It's just..." Sherlock sighed. He nosed her hairline. "We've been flatmates for fifteen months now. It's not so easy to just come out and tell him that I've been married that entire time."

Molly pressed herself closer to her husband. She could feel the thrum of his heartbeat. She knew how hard it was for him. He had never cared about anyone thinking well of him before John Watson. "If it makes you feel any better, no one knows better than John how much of a prat you are."

"I think you know better," Sherlock joked.

Molly closed her eyes as she relaxed against Sherlock. "Mm. I don't know about that. You _did_ drug him with a fear-inducing chemical in order to experiment on him."

"I should really just work it casually into conversation," Sherlock ignored her jab about Baskerville. His fingers began sifting through her damp hair. "Got a case from Lestrade. Moriarty was wrong when he called me 'the Virgin', as I have been married to Molly Hooper for two and a half years. We need milk."

Molly sighed and felt herself beginning to drift off. "I would suggest finding a more sensitive way to do that. He is your best friend." 

"Hey." Molly felt Sherlock poke her. "Before you fall asleep, I've got a present for you."

With a small moan, Molly sat up. "Mm? Why?"

Sherlock held out the small box to Molly. "Do I need to have a reason?"

Molly took the small box. "This is something you got for solving a case, you just have no use for it, right?"

Sherlock scowled. "Well... Sort of. Not quite." He waved his hand. "Just open it, Molly."

Molly opened the lid at let out a small squeak at the sight of the glittering diamond earrings. "Sherlock! Oh!"

"They were cufflinks," Sherlock explain, tilting his head to kiss Molly on the cheek. "All of my shirts have buttons. So I had them converted for you." He shifted just enough to kiss her on the ear. "I thought they would look better on you anyway."

Molly pressed her lips together, trying to suppress her smile. She felt Sherlock chuckle against her. "You like it."

Molly nodded. "Very much." 

"Wear them the next time I come into morgue." Sherlock kissed her ear once again. "John saw them when they were still cufflinks. Maybe he'll notice."

Molly laid back down with Sherlock. "You'll tell him when the time is right."

Sherlock's arms wrapped around Molly. "You're not impatient for me to do it?"

Molly shook her head. "No. Because I know you're ready to do it."

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Molly asked, leaning towards Sherlock across the table conspiratorially. They were in the canteen at Barts. They had been working on an experiment in the morgue, when Sherlock suddenly announced he needed to wait half an hour for the results and until then, they should get coffee.

Sherlock took a sip of his drink. "Why wouldn't it be? Married people consume beverages together all of the time."

Molly blushed slightly. "It's just... Well... We usually don't do this... Out in the open."

Sherlock shrugged. "As far as anyone is concerned, we are just taking a break from experiments. Besides, isn't this what you _wanted_?" He furrowed his brow. "What we wanted?"

Molly opened her mouth to respond. Of course it had been what she wanted! She wanted the whole world to know she and Sherlock were together!

Well. Maybe not the _whole_ world. Actually, she felt very exposed in the canteen. Of course, there was the obvious. Sherlock had a lot of enemies, not least of all a psychopath who had hooked John up to Semtex.

"It's okay to be nervous," Sherlock murmured, brushing a thumb over her hand. "You know full well the trepidations I've had about our relationship becoming public knowledge. But just because I'm not stating it outright does not mean I will hide it."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small box. He slid it across the table to Molly.

She smiled down at the silver and sapphire hairpin as she opened the box. "So what was it before you had it converted?"

"Tie pin," Sherlock replied. He took the hairpin out of the box and leaned over, slipping it into Molly's hair securely. "There. Lovely. Not worth nine million quid, but I'd rather not be murdered by Chinese circus performers." 

Molly giggled softly and picked up her mug. She nearly choked on her coffee when she heard Sherlock called out. "Oh John!"

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw John approaching the table, looking confused. "I was just down in the morgue, but I was told you were up here. What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Sherlock replied. "I'm having coffee while I wait for my experiment."

"With Molly." John said warily.

Sherlock's brow knit and he shook his head fractionally. "And? Why would that be surprising?"

Molly just drank deeply from her cup, keeping her eyes off of John. But she could feel him watching her.

When she did manage to hazard a quick glance at him, she swore he was looking at the decoration Sherlock had just placed in her hair.

* * *

"Do I really have to do this?" The irritation laced Sherlock's voice as he stood outside the door of Molly's bedroom. 

Molly reared up on her knees, kneeling on her bed. She ran her hands down the pink silk slip she wore. It wasn't anything naughty, but she felt sexy wearing it, with her hair loose around her shoulders. Besides the lingerie, the only things she wore were her wedding ring and the earrings Sherlock had given her. "Come on, Sherlock," Molly called out sweetly. "It's all in good fun. I want to see!"

The door swung open and Sherlock entered. He was scowling as he strode in, fully dressed in one of his tailored suits. His dark curly hair was covered by the grey deerstalker.

Molly clapped her hands over her mouth and let out a squeak. "Oh Sherlock! You look _adorable_."

"I don't want to look adorable!" Sherlock groused. He was pacing in front of the bed. "It's a stupid hat with ridiculous flaps and--" He paused, turning slowly to look at Molly.

Molly blushed and squirmed under his gaze. His scowl had turned to a look of utter astonishment. "You look amazing."

Giggling softly, Molly looked down at herself. "Well... I just... I thought you might like it."

"I do," Sherlock assured her. He slipped his hands to her hips. He leaned in close. "So. Do you want me to leave the hat on?"

Molly laughed. "Don't have a problem with that now, do you?"

Sherlock chuckled against her neck. "As long as the rest of my clothing goes, I think I can manage it." 

* * *

Molly burst through the door at 221B. She had been at work when she had heard two nurses gossiping about the arrest that had been made at Tower Hill. 

Sherlock stared at Molly blankly as she panted for air. "Is everything all right, Molly?" 

Molly rushed to kneel in front of his chair. She took his hand. She didn't care if John was there. She needed to be there for her husband. "Is everything all right with _you?_ " 

Sherlock's brow knit. "Why wouldn't it be all right, Molly?" He looked her over. "You're still wearing your lab coat. Did you leave the middle of your shift? What is going on?"

"I heard about Jim--" She grimaced. "Moriarty-- I just wanted to make sure you're..." 

Sherlock leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of Molly's hair. "That's a terrible excuse to come see me. Would you like some tea? It might help with your trembling." 

Molly stayed in her spot on the floor while Sherlock rose and walked towards the kitchen. "Wait a minute," Molly frowned deeply. "Why are you trying to make _me_ feel better? I came here to make _you_ feel better."

Sherlock leaned out of the kitchen. "I always appreciate when you do that, but John will be back shortly. He's just gone round the shops. I doubt finding us _in flagrante_ is the appropriate way for him to find out about our relationship." He disappeared back into the kitchen and Molly heard the sound of mugs being taken out of the cupboard.

Molly slipped up to sit in Sherlock's chair. She pulled her legs up, hugging them to her chest. "It's just... Well... Jim-- Moriarty-- was arrested!"

"That is-- in fact-- a good thing, Molly," Sherlock called out. "Why do you believe that would upset me?"

"It's just-- well--" Molly hugged her legs tighter. "I just thought-- I-- Umm-- I don't know."

"In your own time," Sherlock replied. There was some more noise from the kitchen. A few minutes later, Sherlock came out with a tea tray. He set it down on the table next to his chair. He handed Molly a steaming mug of tea. "Have you figured out what you wanted to say yet?"

Molly wrapped her fingers around the mug. "I just thought you might be bothered that the police caught him. Not you."

Sherlock smirked at her. "You were worried about my ego? Well, I don't know what that says about me." He cupped her cheek. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm sure I will be called as an expert witness in his trial, especially since he wrote _GET SHERLOCK_ on the glass case housing the crown jewels."

Molly's jaw dropped. "Sherlock..."

"He's in prison," Sherlock assured her, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "There's not a whole lot he can do to me at the moment. Of course, he _will_ have a plan to get out. Otherwise, he wouldn't have allowed himself to get caught."

Molly just watched Sherlock. She could see it in his face. He was bothered by what Jim had done. Allowing himself to be taken. He hadn't yet figured out what that plan was.

But Sherlock didn't want to tell her. Being vulnerable about his emotions towards _her_ was already a big step for him. He was not going to be vulnerable in any other way. Molly set her mug down. "I'm really sorry I bothered you."

Sherlock frowned. "You're never a bother, Molly. This is your home too." 

She leaned in and gave him a kiss. "If you need to talk, you know I've always got an ear."

"You've got two," Sherlock pointed out before giving her another kiss. "Would you like to finish your tea? They can do all right without you for another thirty minutes. You have the luxury of your patients not getting any sicker without your presence."

Molly hesitated for a moment. She knew she should just go back to work if Sherlock didn't want to talk. But he was right. Any corpse in the morgue could stay on ice for a bit. She picked up her mug again with a smile.

She'd try to talk to him again later.

* * *

"Not guilty on all counts, huh?" Molly dropped her bag on the floor of 221B.

Sherlock glanced up, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Hm? Oh yes." He blinked. "How long have you been here?"

Molly rushed across the room and threw herself into his lap. Sherlock grunted softly as her weight fell onto him. "I just got here, you silly sod. And you've obviously been thinking about this. Too much." 

Sherlock's hands came up to frame Molly's face. "John is in his room."

"I don't care," Molly replied insistently. She leaned in, kissing Sherlock. 

He responded back, twisting his fingers in her hair. He sighed against her mouth, murmuring softly. "He came by."

Molly pulled away, eyes widening. She licked over her lower lip. "Wh-what?"

"Moriarty," Sherlock replied evenly. "He came by right after his release. We had tea. It was all very civil." He continued to toy with Molly's hair.

Molly just stared at Sherlock in shock. A million things were going through her mind, all rushing at the same time. She wanted to yell at Sherlock for not opening up to her. She wanted to kiss him and tell him it would be all right. 

But she knew it wouldn't be. Not with Moriarty out again. 

"Sherlock!" John called down the stairs. "I'm going to order Thai. Are you going to eat anything other than that applesauce you made?"

Molly leapt out of Sherlock's lap. Her hands flew up to her mouth, her cheeks flushing.

"You don't need to rush off," Sherlock murmured. He slipped his arm around Molly's waist, urging her back to him. "If he finds out, he finds out."

Molly leaned in and pressed a warm kiss to Sherlock's forehead, brushing his curls away from his face. "He shouldn't find out by finding me in your lap." 

"I said I opposed to him finding us shagging," Sherlock said with a smile. "Having a snog is different. It would be very appropriate. I walked in on him and Sarah once."

"No." Molly crinkled her nose at Sherlock. Not only was the idea of John walking in on them mortifying, she couldn't say she was feeling at all sexy with Moriarty now free. "Have something to eat with John."

Sherlock's long fingers slipped around her wrist. "Molly..."

His hand was holding her tightly, almost too tightly. She worried her lower lip again. "Sherlock..."

It didn't show on his face, but she could feel it in his touch. The fear. Molly bowed her head and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's hand. "Talk to me."

Sherlock blinked at her. "About what?"

Molly sighed softly. She turned Sherlock's hand, kissing him gently at his pulse point. He wasn't going to open up to her about what he was feeling. She could tell. It was just too hard to get through to him sometimes.

"Sherlock?" John called down again. It was followed by the sound of footsteps.

Molly gave Sherlock a small smile. She gave his hand a brief squeeze before she pulled away. "Have dinner. And... Call me. If you'd like, I mean." She gave him a half-hearted smile.

"Molly?" John walked into the sitting room, his brow crinkled. "What are you doing here?"

"I just stopped by," Molly answered, walking towards the door. She picked up her bag as she went. "When I heard about the verdict. I just thought... You know, it doesn't matter. I should leave now."

John frowned deeply. "Are you sure you don't want to stay for dinner?"

"Yes, stay for dinner," Sherlock murmured.

Molly shook her head. Part of her wanted to stay. She always wanted to be around Sherlock. But another part was hurt he was still resisting her attempts to help him. "Maybe another time."  

Molly could feel Sherlock's gaze on her as she walked towards the door. She felt her stomach twisting even as she went out the door.

* * *

The day after Moriarty's acquittal, Sherlock seemed to forget all about the consulting criminal. The papers reported that Jim-- Moriarty-- had disappeared. As he disappeared from the public eye, he seemed to disappear from Sherlock's memory.

Molly knew it wasn't true. It was in the back of his head all of the time. He was just biding his time until Jim returned.

The Reichenbach Hero continued to be called onto cases. In between, Sherlock would spend time with Molly. She guiltily enjoyed the fact that Sherlock was honest-to-goodness courting her.

He still brought her tokens of affections, usually regifted from some grateful client. Molly loved them all the same. She didn't need trinkets from Sherlock. She didn't even care if they did something romantic. That he was spending time with her was enough.

Molly was just pulling on her jacket to meet Sherlock when he strode through the doors in the opposite direction. She was surprised to see him. They had been planning to meet at the café.

"Molly!" Sherlock said in greeting.

Moly looked up at him. Was he coming to meet her? But John was with him. "Oh hello. I'm just going out."

Sherlock put his hands on her shoulders, an oddly physical move for him to do with John there. But he turned her and began to walk her back towards the laboratory. "No you're not."

"I've got a lunch date," Molly subtly reminded him as she walked alongside him. She knew it was futile. He was clearly deep into a case.

"Cancel it." Sherlock reached into his pockets and produced two bags of Quavers from his pockets. "You're having lunch with me."

Molly blinked at him. "What?" She was a bit taken aback at being dragged into a case with him so dramatically. While she often worked with him, this intense insistence was something new.

She knew the answer before he said it.

"Need your help. It’s one of your old boyfriends – we’re trying to track him down. He’s been a bit naughty!"

Jim. Of course. That was the only person who could make Sherlock act like this. Despite being with Sherlock while he investigated, it seemed like John hadn't quite caught onto the tense energy that came off him in waves when he was dealing with Moriarty.

Maybe there were some advantages to a wife over a partner.

"Er, Jim actually wasn’t even my boyfriend." Molly felt irritation at Sherlock continuing to pick at her investigation of Jim. She wasn't sure what irritated more. That she'd played at dating him to investigate him or that he'd actually been up to no good and she was the only one to figure it out. "We went out three times. I ended it."

Sherlock gave Molly his normally haughty, cool look. "Yes, and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England and organised a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly."

Well. That answered that question. Molly obligingly followed after him.

Maybe she spoke too soon when she said she just liked spending time with Sherlock. 

* * *

 

Jim really had Sherlock rattled.

While intense concentration was a hallmark of her husband's, mistaking her for John was something that was new. And irritating. She tried to let it go, but knew it probably showed on her face clearly. Not that Sherlock would notice. He was lost in the chemical compounds he was attempting to discern.

"I... Owe... You," Sherlock muttered as he looked into the microscope. As he looked away, Molly could practically see the formula working its way through his mind. "Glycerol molecule. What _are_ you?" 

But as much as she wanted to save two kidnapped children, they weren't her primary concern. There was one thing that stood out to her. The one thing she would always concentrate on, above everything else. 

Sherlock's wellbeing. "What did you mean, 'I owe you'?" She noticed Sherlock glance at John. Poor, unaware John. He had no idea what was going on with Sherlock. "You said, 'I owe you'. You were muttering it while you were working." 

Sherlock looked into his microscope once again. "Nothing. Mental note."

He was trying to brush her off, to get back to work. He just wanted to concentrate on his case.

But it wasn't right. There was something wrong with him. Something deep down. He wanted to ignore it, but she couldn't.

"You're a bit like my dad. He's dead." Molly closed her eyes, feeling stupid for phrasing it like that. It was a stupid phrasing regardless of whom she was talking to, but even more Sherlock, who knew perfectly well her father was deceased. "No, sorry."

Sherlock was clearly irritated by her attempt to talk to him while he was working.  "Molly, _please_ don't feel the need to make conversation. It's really not your area."

He could be cutting at times, but this was something beyond his usual. But she knew it wasn't that she was interrupting him that was bothering him.

It was because he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want her to probe. She knew he wasn't all right. He just wanted to keep a stiff upper lip and continue on.

But this-- before everything else-- was Molly's job. To bring out the parts of Sherlock he wanted to hide from everyone. She had relented so many times before, she wouldn't do the same now. "When he was dying, he was always cheerful. He was lovely... Except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad."

"Molly..." Sherlock said warningly. That he wanted her to drop it was clear. But no, she couldn't. Not this time.

"You look sad." She looked towards John. "When you think he can't see you."

Sherlock lifted his head from the microscope. He looked briefly to John before turning to Molly. He wasn't fighting with her any longer. "Are you okay?" He opened his mouth, but she shook her head. They'd had this conversation before. "And don't just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you."

" _You_ can see me," Sherlock replied. 

Molly gave him a small smile. "I don’t count."

She was his wife. Of course she didn't count. He couldn't hide anything from her. She loved him too much. She was too close. She might not have possessed the deductive reasoning of a consulting detective, but she could read him, even if he didn't realize it.

It piqued Sherlock's interest. He blinked at her.

"What I'm trying to say is that, if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me. No, I just mean..." That sounded far more perverted than she had meant it. "I mean if there’s anything you need..." She looked down, suddenly feeling unsure of herself. "It’s fine." 

But Sherlock was rattled. More than she had ever seen him. When he spoke, his first word was with a stammer. "What-what-what could I need from you?"

Molly looked up at him. If Sherlock didn't know what he wanted from her, she wasn't going to push him any further. She would be there with anything he needed, whenever he decided to take her up on it. "Nothing. I dunno. You could probably say thank you, actually."

Sherlock was quiet for a long moment, as if testing out the words in his head. "...Thank you."

Molly needed to get away for a few minutes. She needed to let the atmosphere in the room calm. "I'm just gonna go and get some crisps. Do you want anything?" She saw Sherlock about to speak, but she interrupted him before he had the chance. "It's okay, I know you don't." 

Molly could see the sad look, the one he was hiding from everyone but her, clear in his eyes. "Well, actually, maybe I'll..."

"I know you don't."

Molly strode off, leaving Sherlock in the lab. If he needed her, she would be there. But he wasn't ready yet.

* * *

Word had already filtered to Molly about what was going on with Sherlock. How the girl he had rescued from the disused sweets factory had screamed at the sight of him. That rude forensic examiner, Anderson, had come in to look over the findings, to see exactly how Sherlock had come to his conclusion. He actually seemed to believe that Sherlock hadn't figured it out on his own, but rather had kidnapped the girl himself.

Things were going to end badly. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach.

Anderson had only been gone for about five minutes when she heard footsteps behind her. "Molly?" The voice was soft, hesitant.

"What is it?" Molly asked, raising her head.

Her back straightened as she set eye on the slight man. "Jim." She reached over, touching her fingers to her scalpel. He may have been a criminal mastermind, but he had no guns on her and she didn't have Semtex strapped to her chest. Maybe she could get a few licks in.

Jim looked at where her hand was creeping. He held up his own hands. "Wait wait wait! It's all right! Don't-- Just don't do anything."

He reminded her of Jim from IT again. Not the cool and silent criminal she had seen on trial. "And it's Rich, by the way,"

"Rich?" Molly repeated. "You've changed your name."

Jim-- Moriarty-- Rich-- whatever-- shook his head. "It always was my name. I just wanted to see you. Before the story came out." 

"Story?" Then, it started to fall into place. She had seen the paper. The tantalizing preview of the Sherlock Holmes tell-all. "Rich Brook. You're Rich Brook."

"It's a _long_ story," Jim said, sighing. "I just wanted you to know... I never wanted to do it. Drag you into things."

"Drag me into _what_?" Molly asked. 

"Us dating," Jim replied. "It wasn't my idea. I don't even understand why he asked me to. I guess... He's just odd like that."

Molly shook her head slowly, keeping her hand on the scalpel, ready to wield it at any moment. "I still don't understand."

"You'll understand when the article comes out. I said everything. What he asked me to do."

Molly blinked. "What he... Asked you..." She took a deep breath. "Sherlock. You told the paper Sherlock asked you to do things..."

Jim smiled at her. "You're smart, Molly. I never realized how smart." He paused. "But I suppose it does make sense."

Molly felt her stomach sink deeper. She backed up slowly. The realization hit her slowly. "You told the paper everything."

Jim let out a small laugh. "Maybe I left out one or two things. Always good to hold onto something for yourself."

Molly backed herself up against the door. "How long have you known?"

Something about Jim's smile changed. It became cold. Molly's stomach churned. She was seeing Moriarty now.

Whatever game he had been playing was over. This was the real him. The one she'd never seen before. "You know, when I asked you out, I wanted to see just how far you'd take the charade."

Molly closed her eyes tightly. "You've always known." 

"Of course I did," Moriarty laughed. "You think you could get something like that past me?"

Molly trembled as she took a deep breath. "Then why... You said you would burn the heart out of him... Why haven't you...?"

Molly felt Moriarty move. He was now close-- too close. She could feel his breath against her cheek. "You two have done a fine job torturing yourselves without my help, Doctor Holmes. Just the _idea_ of me was enough. And it's been so much fun to watch."

"And now you're going to ruin him," Molly whispered. "You're behind the little girl screaming at the sight of him. And this article... You want everyone to think he's... What? The actual criminal mastermind?" She swallowed hard. "Why tell me your plan?"

"Because you would never _buy_ it," Moriarty hissed. "You're his _wife_ , you half-wit. I know I'm not going to trick you." He leaned in closer, his lips nearly against her skin. "But I can do worse."

Molly reached for the doorknob. Moriarty shook his head. "Don't bother rushing off. It's not going to happen yet. I must dash. Your better half is going to be coming by my place soon. Can't leave him wanting. You know how that is."

He pushed past Molly, going through the door. He paused in the corridor. "You know, before I leave... There's something I have to ask."

Molly tightened her fists, trying to stop herself from shaking. "What's that?"

"You're his wife. You nursed him through his drug addiction. And he's never going to come to you. He'll go to John. But... You..." He shook his head. "How does that feel?"

"I give him what he needs," Molly replied softly.

Moriarty grimaced. "What he needs from _you_. And it's terribly disappointing he should be so ordinary." He started to stride away.

"Why didn't you tell them?" Molly called after him. "Why didn't you tell the papers about me?" 

Moriarty's laughter filled the corridor. "No one would have believed me."

* * *

She had thought of texting Sherlock after her encounter with Moriarty. But it was pointless. With everything that had happened, he wouldn't be answering his texts, even from her.

She struggled through her shift. She was just turning out the lights when she heard the dark voice. "You're wrong, you know." 

Molly jumped, gasping. She was still on edge from Moriarty's visit to her. She spun around and saw Sherlock, bathed in shadow.

"You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you." He kept himself turned away from her, as if he were afraid to face her with everything he was saying.

She almost spoke. She wanted to tell him that wasn't what she meant by not counting. But he continued on, turning to face her. "But you _were_ right. I’m not okay."

Molly felt her heart leap into her chest at his words, at the vulnerability clear in his face. "Tell me what's wrong." 

Sherlock stepped towards her. "Molly, I think I'm going to die."

She knew Moriarty's plans were horrific. It didn't surprise her this would be his endgame. But hearing the words from Sherlock's mouth-- that he wasn't arrogant enough to deny it-- scared her to her very core.

"What do you need?"

Sherlock continued approaching her slowly. His voice was low. "If I wasn't everything that you think I am – everything that I think I am – would you still want to help me?"

Molly had been married to him for two and a half years. She knew exactly what he was. There was nothing that would ever stop her from helping him. "What do you need?" she repeated.

Sherlock stopped in front of her. "You."

They stared at each other for a long time. Finally, Molly reached up, threading her fingers in his hair and tugging him down to her. She could feel Sherlock's hand slip inside of her coat, resting on the small on her back. Molly took his mouth, hearing his hissing intake of breath. For one brief moment, the world melted away. There was nothing but the moist caress of their mouths. "You're a idiot," Molly finally said. She pulled away from Sherlock, looking up into his pale eyes. "I know who you are. You're mine."

"It's going to get bad, Molly," Sherlock murmured.

"And whatever I need to do," Molly replied. "I'll do it." 

* * *

Molly sat outside of the morgue. She rested her head in her hands. She was physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted from everything that had happened in the last day.

"Molly?"

She looked up at saw John. He was pale and there were tearstains on his cheeks. "John." Molly got to her feet. "How are you doing?"

"Have you done the post-mortem on him?" John asked. "Are you going to..."

Molly shook her head. "I'm not doing a post-mortem." She paused. "There's not going to be a post-mortem. Police investigation doesn't necessitate it. Cause is clear. And the next of kin requested the body remain as is."

John blinked. "That's a bit surprising of Mycroft."

Molly froze. "Mycroft." She nodded slowly. "Of course... Mycroft."

John put a hand on Molly's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Molly looked down. She didn't know if she could look John in the eyes while she lied. She placed a hand over his. "I'm drained. I need to... Process everything."

John looked to the door of the morgue. "You're not doing a post-mortem, but his body..."

Molly nodded. "Yeah. It's here. I'll take care of it, John." She leaned in, giving in a kiss on the cheek. "Go home, John."

John gripped her hand. "Sherlock told me to tell you he was a fake. That everything they said was true. That he invented Moriarty." He met her gaze. "You know that's not true, right?"

"Of course, John." She sighed. "Now go get some rest, okay."

Once John had disappeared from sight, the door to the morgue opened. Sherlock stepped out, his face obscured by a jacket and a hat. "I'm going to need you to watch him for me."

Molly walked alongside Sherlock. "What do you mean watch him?"

"When I'm gone," Sherlock replied. "Taking down Moriarty's network. I'm going to need you to watch after John, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft, Lestrade..."

Molly shook her head. "I can't do that, Sherlock.  I'm coming with you."

Sherlock stopped, turning to face Molly. "You can't, Molly. It's going to be dangerous..."

Molly reached into her pocket. She held out her hand to Sherlock. "Here. I have your personal effects."

Sherlock frowned slightly and held out his hand. Molly dropped his wedding band into his palm.

"I didn't know you carried that with you," Molly whispered. She reached back into her pocket and pulled out her own. "I do the same." She slipped her ring on. "And with this ring, I be wed to a mad man who gets into dangerous situations and I'm going to be by his side."

"Molly..."

"Moriarty came to see me yesterday night," Molly said quietly. "I didn't tell you before everything... I didn't want you to worry. He knew. About us. And I bet you his lieutenants know too. The safest place for me is with you." She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Sorry. You're stuck with me, Sherlock."

Sherlock slipped his own ring onto his finger. "I suppose... Travelling under guise of being a honeymooning couple isn't a bad cover." He took hold of her hand before reaching into his coat, glancing at his pocketwatch. "Come on, Missus. It's time. We have a spider's web to unravel."


	7. An Erase of Identity

John had done his best to put Sherlock's death behind him. He had seen the reports of course. How the world thought he was a fraud. There were some who still believed in him. He'd seen the graffiti tags around London. 

When he finally visited Sherlock's grave and he said goodbye to his friend, he thought he'd laid it all to rest. Sherlock was gone and he'd come to terms with it. Sherlock was not coming back.

He would not give into the grief. He had grieved for weeks. But now, he was ready to move on. To leave 221B.

He was surprised when he received the summons to come to Sherlock's will reading.

What was the most shocking was that Sherlock had any form of will. He didn't think the consulting detective had the forethought to do something like that or that his ego would let him believe that he even _could_ die.

He thought of not attending, but Mrs Hudson had also received a summons. He accompanied the landlady to the executor's, the Holmes family solicitor. 

Maybe it wasn't so surprising that Sherlock should have a will. Most likely, Mycroft had insisted upon it.

When John arrived at the solicitor's office, he wasn't surprised to see Mycroft there.

He was, however, surprised to see Molly Hooper.

He knew Sherlock and Molly had become closer in the past few months. But Sherlock updating his will to include his favourite pathologist?

He hadn't seen her since the funeral. She'd been-- for lack of a better word-- a ghost. She'd quit her job at Barts following Sherlock's fall. She most likely would have lost it anyway, given her interactions with him. Lestrade had been suspended and Molly's work with Sherlock had been even more questionable.

"How are you doing, Molly?" John asked.

Molly gave him a weak smile. "I really just want to get this over with." 

The solicitor sorted through some papers. "Well, shall I then?"

Mycroft nodded. "Please. I would like to get this over with."

The solicitor nodded. "Mister Holmes had bequests for each of you." He looked down at the paper. "Except for you, Mister Holmes. Your brother requested your presence so he could specifically say he did not leave you anything."

Mycroft smiled, nodding. "Of course he did."

"To Missus Martha Hudson," the solicitor continued. "Mister Holmes left the sum total of five years rent for 221B Baker Street, on the condition she do not dispose of any of his belongings."

"Oh that boy," Mrs Hudson sighed. "Why would he want to do a silly thing like that?"

"Probably wants you to turn it into a museum or something," John joked half-heartedly.

"To Doctor John Watson-- should he choose to no longer remain in Baker Street-- Mister Holmes bequeaths the sum of ten thousand pounds and possession of his personal case files."

John smiled softly. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with all of Sherlock's case files, but he was touched none the less.

"As for the rest of Mister Holmes' estate," the solicitor flipped to the next page. "Aside from the bequests to Doctor Watson and Mrs Hudson, the estate is left in its entirety to Doctor Molly Hooper..."

John turned sharply to look at Molly, his jaw dropping. Molly didn't look at all shocked by the pronouncement.  

"Holmes," the solicitor finished. 

John blinked. "Wait. What was that? Repeat that last part."

"The estate is left in its entirety to Doctor Molly Hooper-Holmes," the solicitor repeated.

John again turned to look at Molly. She was refusing to meet his gaze. She got up from her seat. "Thank you," she whispered, rushing towards the door.

John left Mrs Hudson and Mycroft with the solicitor, running after the quickly retreating woman.

It was impossible.

But... Was it?

Something about it seemed to make sense.

Molly was striding ahead of him once they got outside. "How long?" he called after her.

Molly stopped at the street corner, keeping her back to him. "For as long as you've been around. Longer. Two and a half years."

"Two--" John shook his head. "That's not... You couldn't."

Molly turned slowly to him. "But it's true. He wanted to tell you, John. He was trying to figure out how."

"Why not when I moved in?" John demanded. 

"No one knew," Molly explained. "If you go back in there, Mrs Hudson will be just as confused. Only Mycroft knew and he certainly doesn't like talking about it." 

John felt a swell of anger at the deception. Sherlock had been married for as long as John had known him.

Yet he couldn't be surprised. If Sherlock were to be married, he would want to keep it a secret. Not out of shame, but out of intense privacy. He would have wanted to shield any emotional weakness from even his flatmate.

"I have to go," Molly said quietly. "There are things I have to do, John. Really important things. I'm sorry. You can't let anyone know. I'll be back."

Molly started to move across the street.

"How could I have missed it?" John asked.

Molly turned, smiling weakly. "It's like he says... There's always something you miss."

John felt like his breath was knocked out of his with the words. Not the saying. Of course he had heard Sherlock say it before.

"Says," John repeated. "You said he _says_."

The momentary distraction was enough. Molly was crossing the street. John tried to follow after her, but cars were already whizzing by, separating them. " _Molly!"_ John called after her.

John stood on the street corner. There was a throng of people on the other side, but he was sure he saw Molly still.

He saw her stop briefly on the other side. His eyes widened when he realized she was meeting up with someone.

A tall, lean someone who was obscuring his face with his coat collar and hat.

"Molly!" John called after her. He wouldn't call out the other name. He couldn't bring himself to. 

The man turned his head. He looked to John. John still couldn't get a clear look at his face, but he knew the man could see him. The man knew he could see him back. He lifted a hand to the brim of his hat, tugging it in a greeting.

It made sense now. What Molly had said. About what she needed to do. It wasn't her talking to him. She wasn't the one who was sorry.

John nodded. He turned to walk in the other direction.

Always something, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends "Always Something". I just want to thank everyone who has read this story and has left reviews. I'd like to give a very special thanks to Pablo, Lex and Petra for betaing and supporting me while write.


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